WHISPER
Copyright 2002 by K.J.Jekyll. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles, or reviews, that are deemed favourable.
    This book is distributed subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be sold, lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publishing agent, in this case being specified as K.J.Jekyll, in any other form of binding other than that in which it is bound.
    All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
    This book contains the complete text of other versions and is marked this year of our Lord 2002 as "The Original". This copy supersedes any others as the original, but all other copies remain the sole property of the author.
Produced in New Zealand, Christchurch, by  K.J.Jekyll
Ssssh, there could be someone listening...
Prologue

It wasn't that Brian wanted to kill himself, but at this particular moment, it seemed like the only real way of escaping a fate worse than death. The plan, planning, execution of it all - it had been perfect, but he hadn't considered that some one might have been watching. Yes, the plan, the masterful and so clever plan - it had gone without a hitch.
    Brian had been a financial whizz ever since his father had given him his first allowance. Somehow, he just had the knack of doubling whatever amount of cash he could get his hands on. The only problem he did have, was that he liked to spend the money as much as he did double it. It was a two edged sword, acquire and spend.
    So through the years of his childhood, then adolescence, Brian learnt the way of financial side stepping and illusion. Money, it came and went, like the friends money attracted. Quickly he also learnt that money and people, they seemed to have an almost magnetic attraction. Money - friends, no money - no friends, well most of the time anyway. Brian did spark a few deeper friendships, but they tended to be smothered by the louder, flashier and falser friends who followed the gold at the end of the rainbow.
    School, it didn't provide him with much, except people handling / manipulation skills. It didn't seem to matter in this world if he knew trigonometry, or the works of Shakespeare, well not when it came down to making money. It wasn't a surprise then, that he found his way into the money market style of life. Inexperienced, with no background, he merely walked into a stock market environment, and began playing. In his first month he made twenty thousand dollars, from an initial investment of five hundred. So he played, kept at it, rode it every second of his waking hours, and the sum, it just kept on growing.
    Money has a way of attracting people's attention, and Brian's activities were noticed, and followed. After three months and sixty five thousand dollars up, he was contacted by a firm, and offered a job with a generous retainer - a provisional job at first, but permanent once he proved his mettle.
    Brian didn't wait for the dust to settle, making money the way he had, had been too hard, now making money from other people's money, that was more like it. So he became a respectable, hard working, responsible employee - well outwardly. Deep within him was still the boy who would loved to double and spend. Being in such a position, enabled him to learn how he might continue with this game. With tentative steps he began moving money around, there was no dishonesty in his actions, but as he did this he saw a number of "opportunities".

~
A year passed and he made excellent progress. Promoted from probationary status to preferential corporate, his talents rather than burning out just kept on growing. It was as if he could sense trends, see underlying pitfalls and predict the future. His own personal wealth had passed the two hundred thousand mark and showed no signed of stopping, but it wasn't enough, nor was it growing fast enough for him.
    So came the plan. Yes the plan. A retirement / superannuation policy, without taxes or clawbacks. It was simple in its complexity. Using his own money as a starter, he invested in a number of companies, creating for himself an investor's history. Then transferring funds from his management accounts, he cycled the borrowed money into these companies, withdrawing his cash as he did. It was a tricky game, and he was amazed at how he had gotten away with such a stunt, but once it was begun, he was able to ride it to new heights. The sums channelled into these companies / accounts grew to gigantic proportions, and since the accounts were in Brian's name, he became on paper a rich player.
    Now the aim of all this was not to steal the channelled money, but to acquire monies against it - some people would argue that this was theft, Brian more liked to reason it as a long term loan. Floating the idea that he was going to start out in business himself, financing it himself, he applied for a large / secured loan - from a well endowered bank. The trick here was that he had intimate knowledge as in how the bank worked, he had spent years dealing with them, and had access to procedure and database information. It was not simple, but less arduous for him than the bank would like. The loan for ten million dollars was approved, and as soon as the money was in his account, he transferred it off shore, to the Bahamas, where supposedly his new venture was to begin. Once this had been achieved, the problem was transferred from Brian's shoulders to the bank's - the bigger the amount of cash, the bigger the risk to the loaner, rather than the borrower.
    Brian kept the channelling of money going, and began settling his affairs, in a month it should be safe to exit from the firm, go on an extended holiday to somewhere like say the Bahamas, and retire. He would never be able to return to the States, but he wasn't particularly worried about that - the people were okay, but the culture had become twisted, focusing almost entirely on money...  Setting the wheels in motion he brought all the stuff a tourist would, arranging for his mail to be redirected, pot plants watered, apartment watched. With first class tickets and enough spending money to keep him out of trouble, he waited for the day to arrive. He gave a generous donation to the work social club, which enabled them to have a decent going away party for him, and he made arrangements with a number of his colleges, for social events when he came back. All in all he ensured that it looked as if he were going on holiday, rather than running away with ill gotten gains.
~
 So there he was at the airport, standing in line, ticket and passport in hand.
    "Next!" the customs official waved him to approach the bench. "Nice time of the year to be travelling to the Bahamas..." the agent smiled, placing the ticket and passport under the scanner.
    "Yes, not been abroad before, so this should be an experience."
    "Business or pleasure?" the agent asked casually.
    Suddenly Brian had a pang of nerves, for no reason than it seemed appropriate. "A bit of both I hope." and he smiled for effect.
    "Yes, well," the agent frowned, "there seems to be a problem," rising he picked up the ticket and passport, "will you follow me please Sir!"
    The stones in Brian's stomach doubled in weight, surely this was just some sort of administration error, one that would take only a couple of minutes to rectify.     Following the customs agent through a maze of corridors, they made their way to an interview room, where a man in a black suite waited. Brian was shown in and the door behind him closed.
    "Now Mr Aldus, you know why you have been denied to leave today?"
    "No, not a clue." one of the greatest lies since his childhood.
    "Come now, let's not play this game..."
    "Game?"
    "Yes game..." the officer persisted.
    "So who are you?" Brian decided to go on the offensive.
    "Me, I am agent Wilson," producing a badge as he said this, "FBI!"
    "FBI, now why would you be interested in me?" lie two.
    "Really Mr Aldus, you are doing yourself no service maintaining this line, surely you remember what you have been doing for the last couple of years?"
    "Sure, working - if my memory serves me correct." not a lie.
    "Do I have to spell it out?" Wilson's face hardened.
    "It couldn't hurt." Brian tried to sound disinterested.
    "How about the number ten million, ring any bells?"
    "Ten million what, that's a hell of a lot of anything..." Brian began to feel trapped.
    "Dollars." Wilson's face hardened even more, which had seemed impossible till then.
    "Now where would I get ten million dollars?" the trap was closing.
    "That's exactly the question we had in mind." Wilson smiled falsely.
    "I don't know what you mean." trying to maintain a consistent stance.
    "We can play at this for hours, but we won't. Instead I'm just going to recommend that you not be allowed to travel outside the state limits, and that you will be called upon to answer some very serious questions..." rising, Wilson indicated that the interview, no matter how brief, was over.
    Then Brian was on his own in the corridor, feeling rattled but thankful that he was still free. The only thing that concerned him now, was what his next move should be. His scam would surely be discovered in time, if it hadn't already been, and he was going to be exactly where he didn't want to be when it all came to a head!  He had to escape the city, then state. He had to get off shore, away from those that would imprison him for his inventiveness. The only question was - how?
    Back at the apartment, a lifetime sooner than planned, Brian sat on a chair by a window, and blankly stared out into space. While he did this something nagged at his subconscious, for a time he didn't know what, then he had it - there were a couple of occupied cars below, they looked like government ones - he was being watched!
Chapter 1

10.20 pm, Brian was still sitting by the window, and the surveillance cars, they were still there.
    "Shit they're serious, they aren't budging an inch..." slowly coming to the full realisation. Traditionally a loner, now he could see the folly in such circumstances - because now he was truly alone in this. A trouble shared - a trouble halved, so how was he going to get out this one?
    Dragging himself from the chair, feeling very weary and somehow defeated / robbed, Brian wished this nightmare would just go away, or that he would awake. But the reality stung at him, that this was his life, and not a dream / nightmare. Options, he had a number, but whatever he did, they had to be tempered with the idea that "they" would be watching. As he thought on the word "they" he considered who and how they had come to discover him. So who was behind this; the FBI, the bank, the firm he worked for, the Mafia - ten million dollars was a lot of incentive to be inventive. Surely whoever they were, they knew the money was unreachable for the time being. Only he could access it, knew where it was hidden, could these agents be working to their own end?
    Like it or not he could not afford to stay in this apartment, it would be like waiting for the blade of the guillotine to fall. He had to go to ground, alas he had no ground to go to - except the ground he made. With nearly four grand in cash, he could run for a time without having to call on funds, if indeed he was still able draw on them. A smart bank would forbid access to all of his accounts, and basically force him to surface - or truly to ground, or under it!  With this in mind he knew he was going to have to be prudent with his money, guard his actions well, become as invisible as his condition would allow.

~
Brian woke with a start, having nodded off amidst the thoughts of just what he was going to do next. He experienced mixed and conflicting emotions, if he stayed the "enemy" whoever they were, might simply come and get him - though the surveillance cars suggested otherwise. If he ran, he might find that he had nowhere to run to, and that returning to his safe haven might prove to be impossible. And the cash, he had always had money, made money, lived and breathed with it at his side. Now he was facing a life where he might not actually have access to any, and this frightened him more than was reasonable. It was like losing a close friend or relative, and for the life of him he couldn't rationalise what he would do if it actually happened.
    Caught in between a rock and a hard place, he made the obvious decision, he did nothing - well almost nothing. The nothing he did do was to make a few calls, cell phone calls, on his digital phone. Digital meant difficult to listen in on, his aim to keep the freeloaders off his back, if the FEDS were on him, he was stuffed anyway. From the calls he did make, to colleges and contacts, it seemed that none of them had been contacted. He didn't come right out and ask if they had been arrested, but it would have surely cropped up in the conversation or the tone in their voice, if something were different.
    So it came to be, that he was on his own. How could he involve anyone else in this, to do so would be to invite betrayal, or endanger their lives - a very real danger for all concerned. As for the surveillance car, it remained a constant companion, from that day on.
    The phone rang, "Mr Aldus?" a cold introduction.
    "Yes." best to be guarded.
    "You have something we want." straight to the point.
    "I'm sure I don't know what you mean..."
    "Come now Brian," a deeper knowledge began to unfold, "you must realise that you are not the only one who can play computer games!"
    "Games, computer ones?" hopefully this was a wrong number.
    "Don't play any more..."
    "Meaning?" taking the meaning, let's talk plainly.
    "Games of life and death."
    "Life and death?" God how was he going to get out of this circle of death...
    "Not of any one close mind."
    "No?" was this a reprieve?
    "No, just yours!" at last a blunt threat.
    "Death, no money!" best he try and save his life.
    "No money, death!" a counter bid.
    "How about a compromise?"
    "Sorry, all or nothing." the cold voice got colder.
    "No compromise?" how could these people be so greedy, or was it their necks also?
    "None, we have you, and if we get the money, all of it, we may just let you live." but there was no guarantee.
    "I'll have think on this, consider my options..."
    "You don't have any!" colder and colder.
    The ice from the handset almost made Brian shiver. "I need time to collect the required data..." he needed time, time to make an escape.
    "You have 25 minutes..." click!
    "Shit!" he wasn't going to be given time to do anything but run, but run where, with what?
    The minutes clicked off like Lemmings off a cliff, time it ran out real quick. Trying to remember everything, Brian forgot just about everything, except the important things, like valuable wares. In ten minutes he managed to pack a couple of suitcases, no clothes, just items of real worth, things he had worked hard for - things he could barter with, for cash. With these two cases he slipped out the apartment's door, then down the back stairs, knowing full well he was fooling himself if he thought they would not be watched. What he needed then was a diversion, he'd seen it a million times on TV, the old set the building alight, shoot a fuel tank out, send out a fancy breakfast - but as he considered these he felt they'd been done to death, and wouldn't afford the necessary advantage.
    What he needed then was not so much as to escape, as to be taken out of the picture / equation. Now what if he were to stage a death - a suicide, but how. He knew there were drugs that could cause coma like paralyses, and that over worked emergency staff could some times overlook the obvious, still inducing a coma that might really lead to death didn't sound like escape, it sounded like exactly what it was - suicide. The suicide angle was still a valid one though, or possibly even better, that he took the wrong medication as was in need of immediate medical attention. Yes that worked, now all he needed was to know what sort of drug to choose from.
    Searching the internet revealed a wealth of information on drugs, cocaine, heroine, speed, LSD, morphine, uppers and downers, soon his head was swimming with such terms. Problem was, they weren't exactly legal, so he continued his search, knowing that he was tying up the line, and that the mystery caller would not be able to get through. Pushing his luck to the limit he continued to seek out the mystery drug that might save his life - in name only. Then he had it, a common prescribed drug that could be confused with aspirin or disprin, yet was for chronic depression, and if taken in the wrong dose, could be fatal.
    "Ambulance please..." Brian was on a roll, the plan, it had to work.
    "Ambulance!" the response was swift.
    Brian explained that he had mistakenly taken anti depression tablets, when he thought he was taken some aspirin, and that he feared that the drugs would kill him. The emergency services responded accordingly, asking if he had medical insurance, which he did, then verifying this, and advising him that help was on the way. Call complete, now all he had to do was work on his act - there was no way he was taking anything to make himself appear sick, this was merely the first stage of getting away from his shadows.
    The ambulance, would it be enough, at first he thought so, then the reality of his cage hit him - therefore the answer had to be no. So what more could he do, were there other services that might come to his assistance, what about fire and police?  With an idea in mind he took the master key from it's hiding place and continued outside, to the next apartment, which he knew would be empty at this hour. Again he called for assistance, this time there was a fire, and the fire detection system hadn't detected it. This done he pressed on, three apartments further on, here he repeated the formula, this time police, screams had been heard, and a gun shot.
There, apart from calling in the exterminator service, or a hooker, he couldn't think of any one else that could get here in time to save him. So he waited, laying silent bets on who would arrive first - ah he should have called for a tow truck...  To bide his time, he filled a couple of metal rubbish containers in the corridor with rags, and poured some cooking oil over the contents, this should provide a nice smoke screen when help arrived.
    The ambulance announced its impending arrival in the usual way, sirens echoing between the buildings - like a banshee in heat. Brian would have watched with interest as the occupants of the ambulance spilled out onto the road, but there was still work to do. God how was he to play this, be removed as a patient, hide and wait for the ruckus to die down, and hope the bully boys thought he'd escaped anyway, or really do it, use the ambulance as a means of a diversion and run. The options, none of them were safe, there were elements of danger in each, he just had to weigh up what was the least likely to get him killed.
    Pouring some meths over the rags in each bin in turn he lit them, and they did smoke nicely, in fact way too nicely as one started to spew forth five foot high flames - too much meths and oil, all in the heat of the moment. The heat from the bin was incredible, suddenly there was the possibility that he had created too good a diversion, one that might no longer be just a diversion.
    "Damn, I've set the building alight..." he backed away from the heat and smoke, retreating to the most logical place, first to his apartment to collect his stuff, then to the stairwell, where he might make his escape. He never made it, his memory did something strange - it remembered, a memory that halted his path, the other apartment next to his was occupied. If the flames kept on as they appeared, the occupant might die - and that would be arson and murder. Stealing, embezzling money from anonymous corporations, that was one thing, the taking of a life - now that was something entirely different. No matter how he despised his fellow beings, Brian did value his life, and by default the lives of those who did him no harm.
    There was still time, rouse the occupants of the floor, then make a run for it in the confusion. From door to door he raced, yelling at the top of his voice and hammering on each in turn. Avoiding the hot spots he ran the length of the corridor, finally returning to the apartment next to his, the bins, they were lessening in their fury, still parts of the walls were alight, flame crawling up them, like death crawling from a slow birth. The door beside him opened, and there was a barrel pointing at his stomach - and the eyes of a killer stared back at him.
    "You here for me!" the youth asked, speech slurred from some mind altering substance.
    "The corridor is on fire!" Brian couldn't hide his shock.
    "So?" fires came every day for some.
    "You have to leave..."
    "Not likely, they'll get me if I do!"
    "Who will get you?" was this a fugitive too?
    "The pigs down there," indicating with a throw of his head, the road below, "I got some problems, and they know that, it don't make me a criminal..." though he looked every inch one.
    This set of unfortunate circumstances gave Brian a better idea. "If this is a set up, they will be out of their car and on their way up..."
    The youth spun and raced to the window, and of course the car below was empty. "Get out of here!" he yelled.
    "What about the fire?" Brian still didn't like the look of his handy work.
    "Forget the fire, that can only kill you once - the pigs, they can make your life a living death!" and with that he dismissed Brian, searching for more ammo' and any other weapons that might be useful against the impending onslaught.
    So it was that Brian undertook to escape, this time keeping his mind on the job at hand, letting sleeping memories lie. On the stairwell landing he waiting and listened, least he run head long into what he was trying to avoid, an unknown future. Even with the gathering sirens and confusion he knew the building would be watched, and watched with the intensity fired by the wealth that he had acquired. Step by step he made his way down, like a cat stalking illusive prey - except that he was the illusive prey, so what did that really make him?
    At the ground floor he took a deep breath and listened, there were sirens and voices, then came the gun shots, one, two, three, pause, then several more. There was shouting and panic beyond the door, but the question whether it would be safe for him to enter this scene was mute. All idea as to what was happening in the foyer was removed from him as the fire alarm was set off, the racket of bells rattling the most determined and settled of thieves. So Brian waited, counting down from thirty, slowly, allowing the authorities who would most likely be to respond to the gun shots to make their move - and so with as much confidence at being a fleeing bystander as he could muster, he opened the door and ran. In the main foyer there were a number of people, his entrance was noted, guns orientating on him swiftly, so he did what he had to do - stop and raise his hands.
    "Is the building on fire..." Brian pretended to be out of breath, at having taken the stairs.
    "No, but there's some nut on the fifth floor who's gone mad..."
    The door behind Brian burst open, and two more people ran into the scene, two more deserting the building and the alarm. They too halted and started to raise their hands, at the officer and gun.
    "It's okay folks," he apologised while lowering his weapon, "you'd better get out of here before the stampede."
    "Thanks." Brian nodded, picking up his bag.
    "Going somewhere?" the officer asked idly, as people are apt to do in situations of stress.
    "Yeah hope so." heading for the doors, that hopefully would allow him to escape this prison that had been a place of residence.
    At the main doors he didn't look for watchers, that would only make him stand out from the crowd. He followed the others, and passed from the building into the gathering crowd - instantly becoming as anonymous as the crowd. He'd done it, made the needed break, now he had to capitalise on this good fortune before it turned on him. There was only one real problem with this fleeing, he was not exactly sure where he was fleeing to, except another building or place, where he would be safe from prying eyes and where he could make his plans freely.
    "Live Girls Nude!" the sign read, and though it wasn't his thing, it seemed like the ideal place to lay low. Now what lower place could he find in such a time scale, to make himself scarce in, at least till the light of day and activities at his apartment building had died down?
    It was ten bucks to get through the door, and he had to buy two drinks at five a piece - exorbitant prices, still good insurance at limiting those that he would run into. The interior was dimly lit, the room divided into a series of secluded cubicles, that all had a full view of an elevated stage. The stage was lit by small pinball lights, that dotted the darkness, as if to make some sort of contrast between light and darkness.
    There was music here, seductive and seedy, suggestive of sex and the trade of it. The stage had been empty when he entered, but by the time he brought his drinks had found an empty cubicle, there was life on the stage, and it was female. Sipping his drink he watched, expecting much more than what he saw. A woman in her forties gyrated and ground her way up and down the poles on the stage, rubbing and peeling at her meagre clothes. The intensity of the lights, the contrast of skin to darkness was effective, but the sagging flesh and tattoos that the woman bore, did little to stir any excitement that Brian might have felt.
    The whole effect did little for him, so he turned to the contents of his bag, namely the diary that held his agendas and a few secrets. The important facts of his past time existed only within the depths of his memory, but the less important plans, they were still to be considered and acted upon. So what he had to do now was find a safe hole to crawl into, a hole very much like he was in right now, except not quite as seedy or expensive. Anonymity and expense were to be considered in making such choices, and a cash flow problem, he only had so much, and drawing on any more, if he could, would only alert his enemies as to his where abouts. He had to be very, very careful...
    "Can I get you another drink?" a fetching girl asked, despite the fact that he had only drunk half of his first glass.
    "No I'm fine thanks."
    "Can I get you anything else?" she pushed her chest out, as if the size of it equated to the answer she expected.
    "Yeah okay..." Brian smiled.
    "Really..." she purred, driven by lust - money lust.
    "Yeah," he licked his lips, "how about the address of really good, cheap digs round here?"
    The girl's chest shrank, as her look of lust abated, "What do you think I am, a bus conductor!" and she was gone.
    "No, I would have said bust myself..." Brian spoke to the empty air, and wondered where the humour of the day had gone.
    The act changed on the stage, to the girl who had just asked if she could do anything for Brian, and as she peeled off her outfit, Brian considered that with plastic tits and body pierced parts, that she didn't do much for him either. Naturally before he could return to his own thoughts another girl was in the booth with him, obviously as she made her way to the stage.
    "Can I get you another drink?" she spoke her lines like a pro.
    "No I'm fine thank's." he tried to remember exactly what he had just said, to see if he got the same responses.
    "Well, what about something else?" the girl deviated from her lines, slightly.
    "Yeah, okay..." Brian considered this girl, she looked clean and fresh, but that was improbable.
    "How about a drink then?" she asked.
    "No I said I was fine." the rehearsal was going wrong, she had lost her lines completely.
    "Not for you silly, for me!" she slid into the seat beside him.
    "Sorry, buy a drink for you, sure." seeing how the plan worked, try to sell sex, and if that don't work, get the customer to buy one of the girl's a drink, and when he / she was drunk enough, try again.
    As if by magic the girl raised an arm, a drink of her choice appeared about a minute later. The cost of the drink was ten dollars, a house special, but to Brian it looked like water.
    "So what brings you here?" the meter was running.
    "Oh just thought I'd pop in."
    "And the bag, you brought some toys along for the ride?"
    "No, the bag doesn't contain any toys," perish the thought, "just a change of clothes and some personal items."
    "You local?" her drink was now half gone.
    "Yes and no, haven't been round here before, I'm looking for a place to stay - any suggestions?" it was worth a shot, and she had at least two more mouthfuls before she was due to move on.
    "Well," she eyed his glass suggestively, so he drank from it deeply, "there's this boarding house on Faith Street, they're reasonable, and they do a good hourly rate..." implying that if he didn't want sex here, it was available at alternative locations.
    "I'll check it out, thanks..." he finished the first glass, and started on the second.
    "So you'd like a date?" she smiled, toying with the last of her drink.
    "I'm flattered, but you're way out of my league." looking for an out.
    "I don't pass judgement on my dates, we have a good time and that is that."
    "No, I mean I don't have much money..."
    "Well," she drained the glass, "you could have said that earlier!" rising, leaving nothing but the smell of her - or more rightly the strong smell of perfume, as if to hide something else.
    "Thanks for the drink," Brian spoke again to the air in mock seriousness, "my pleasure," he responded to himself, "no that costs more than ten bucks..."
    He left the club after another five minutes, which was just long enough to confirm that no one was tracking him, and before another lady came to test his patience. In total he only spent an hour in the club, it had seemed much longer, still he figured it long enough to make his going easier. By now he should have been fifty miles from here, at least, only a fool would hang around and wait to be caught - and that was the whole basis of the plan. Next was a hair cut and colour change, along with new second hand clothes - nothing was more obvious than some one wearing a whole costume of brand new clothes.
    Having achieved these things, he stowed half of his money and his valuables in a safe spot. Still he needed some personal wealth and documents to assist with his ultimate goal. Selecting some good, cheap digs - to begin planning and checking, without raising suspicions. In this city there were a number of places to run to and hide in, but the true nature of these places weren't always what they seemed. Walking down the crowded streets, Brian felt every eye was upon him, he hoped this to be just paranoia, but no matter how he tried to comfort himself he could not. At the distance of 10 blocks he knew he was going to have to take another break. This time he chose a small diner rather than a seedy strip joint.
    "What can I get you?" the waitress asked.
    "A coffee and a danish." he wasn't really hungry, at least this was like the strip joint, he hadn't wanted any of their wares either.
    For five minutes Brian waited, he didn't notice this though, since he was deep in thought about his future, and how to preserve it. He was, he realised, a fugitive on the run, running for his life and freedom, from the most dogged and despicable of pursuers - banks and their hired thugs, which mostly seemed to be cops. It wasn't going to be an easy ride, but he had to win, he had to, he just had too...
    "A coffee and a danish." the waitress came as an angel to rescue him from morbid thoughts.
    "You wouldn't know of any place that offers cheap board, that isn't too rough?" the strippers hadn't been helpful, maybe a waitress would.
    "Round here, well nothing I would consider unless I were male, six foot plus and 18 stone." she smiled at Brian's five foot eight, and much less than 18 stone.
    "What about further out of the city, any ideas?"
    "Well," the waitress faltered as if unsure of the wisdom of her words, "I commute in from West Palms Beach, I have a trailer home there, it ain't the Ritz, but it's safe and quiet."
    "Sounds perfect, how do I go about hiring a trailer out there?" he nodded.
    "There are a number of trailers for rent, I've been living there quite some time, I know most of the folks, give me a day or two and I'll see what's available - okay?"
    "That would be great!" Brian was grateful.
    "I'd offer you a chair or couch, but you know how it is." she smiled apologetically.
    "Sure, too many wolves in the pack already, without inviting them into your home."
    "It's not that I don't trust you, it's just that I don't know you. Anyway Jae is my name, and if you come back, what's today, Tuesday, so if you come back Thursday I might have an answer for you."
    "Thank you very much, I really do appreciate the effort." saying this he paid for the coffee and danish, including with it a generous tip, in the hope that it lubricated the wheels of accommodation.
    Eating and drinking slowly, with nowhere to go, Brian savoured the sensation of having a place to be - temporarily. With these meagre supplies he could only stall so long, and after an hour and a half he felt it time to push on. Waving to Jae he hoped she did find a free trailer for him to rent, his very life might depend on it. Back on the street again, all eyes still seemed focused upon him, as they did Brian knew he was going to have to get to a quiet, safe place - so he could work out what was to come. The bag he carried was an unnecessary burden, but what it held within its canvas would keep him alive - as long as he didn't lose it.
    A bus thundered passed, a squeal of brakes and a plume of smoke signalling that it was coming to a stop. On an impulse Brian joined the line of passengers waiting for it, idly wondering where he might end up, caring not, noting only the address he was going to revisit in two days time. Waiting to board the bus he read off the destinations, ironically West Palms Beach was one of them, so stepping on to the bus he felt it might not be a bad idea to visit his new home - and the beach sounded like a nice place to visit for a day or so.
    The cost of the trip was no tax on his finances, the motion of the bus relaxing, helping to ease the tension he had been carrying with him since the building thing. The miles they ticked off, and with only a bag of essentials as a companion, he felt very isolated / displaced / alone. Money, it had always been his servant, or so he had thought - now the idea begged that in fact it had been quite the opposite, indeed it might be said that he, Brian, he was the servant while money was the master. Contemplating this and the issue of having nowhere to turn to, the destination was reached before he was ready for it.
    The bus left in a plume of smoke and a crescendo of mechanical noise, Brian watched the retreating form stupidly till it turned a corner, and was gone from his life. Standing like a sign post to nowhere, he slowly turned to survey the surroundings, suburbia, a mixture of owned and rented homes - a place of indeterminate wealth. Knowing only one thing for certain, that he could not stand at the bus stop indefinitely, he forced one foot to lift and trace out a step, as such he began walking, not as a free man, but as a slave marching from one prison to another.
    Brian's trip soon revealed that there wasn't much to see out here, just people and their lives - the normal folk that he had always despised as being mortal fools. It came as a bitter twist that he found that he was now amidst such people, seeking what they already had, knowing he might never be able to maintain even this middle class life style.
    "You lost mister?" a voice broke in upon his mood.
    "Lost?" yes he was lost, lost in himself.
    "Where do you want to go?" the young boy asked, who could at best have been twelve.
    "West Palms Beach." the truth.
    "Yeah, but where in West Palms Beach?" the logic of a child refused to be put off by simple answers.
    "I was looking for a trailer park, there are some trailers for rent." Brian tried to sound beaten and empty - not difficult considering his plight.
    "I think I know where you mean, there are a lot of them round here, the closest is over there," pointing down the street, "my friend John lives in a trailer with his dad." as if this were a recommendation.
    "Thanks for that..." Brian was happy for the direction, and the excuse to get away from the kid, they always made him uneasy - with their child like insights, that adult facades could hide little from.
    "I'm going to see John now, mum said it was okay, I can show you where the park is if you like." again child like acceptance that Brian was what he played, or was it that the kid could see that he was basically harmless.
    "Didn't your mother tell you not to talk to strangers?" Brian began to follow the kid.
    "I'm Paul." the kid introduced himself.
    "My name is Brian." this seemed appropriate.
    "Now we aren't strangers." impeccable logic.
    "So how far away is this place?"
    "Only five or so minutes, it's not far if you know the short cuts." and from here Paul deviated from the road, down a side alley, which could easily have been mistaken for a wild life track that might lead nowhere.
    Down the narrow over grown path they went, Brian feeling as if he were being led to the slaughter by a Judas sheep, as much as being shown the shortest route to a prospective new residence. The journey down this path seemed endless, this could have been a maze, except there were no off shots or intersections to provide alternative direction. Then as abruptly as it had begun the path opened to another road, and the hint of a trailer park in the distance.
    "It's over there." Paul motioned. "That," pointing back at the over grown path, "saves you from walking around the whole block. I heard people have been mugged in there, and other things, but I ain't ever seen anyone. I think there are hidden exits, holes in the bushes, and who knows what else..."
    "Very reassuring, I would advise you to not use it again, but I don't think you'd listen - right?"
    "Yeah, come on, John will be waiting, and you ought to take a look round while it's still day time."
    The trailer park wasn't all that much to look at, not at first glance, but Brian could recognise a hide away when he saw it. This place would be perfect, well at least for the interim - a week, a month, a year, until he was sure he could move safely to the next stage.
    "This is John's place here..."
    "Oh..." and that was when the lights went out!  Darkness, there was only darkness for Brian, a darkness like that of the depths provided by death.
    "Good job Mark." the boy previously named Paul was greeted by a baseball wielding associate.
    "Weren't nothing, he followed me like a lamb."
    "A lamb to the slaughter." the man agreed with enthusiasm. "Now let's see what this lamb has to offer."
    So Brian was searched roughly, then his baggage. The money was quickly removed along with anything else that was deemed of value. The documentation relating to his business ventures were left as nonsense, which in reality it was to all but Brian. Having taken everything of value the two opportunists departed, without a single backward glance - leaving their victim to whatever might come along.
~
"My head..." Brian managed to pull himself into a seated position. For a moment the world swam, as he came to determine the size of the lump on the back of his head. The blow while it hadn't taken his head clean off, it had been considerable enough to draw blood, and cause a mild concussion. Feeling as if a train had just run him over, Brian began taking stock of what had been left him, and it came as no surprise that there wasn't much left to take stock of.
    "It's a good thing I stashed the rest of the stuff before coming here." he congratulated himself, for without such precautions he would have found himself completely without money or access to it - and achieving his goals from such a position would be tantamount to impossible.
    First things first, he had to get back to the city and his stash of money, and from there maintain a more vigilant watch out. Small kids, old ladies, priests and nuns, they would all be eyed with suspicion from now on, he could afford to trust no one. His old friend and ally seemed to be just one thing, money - unfortunately everyone wanted his money to be their friend also. Bag repacked, Brian made his way out of the trailer park, away from the sanctuary he had sought, still if the woman Jae in the diner came through, he might consider returning - if he did a certain kid named Paul would have to be careful that he never found him.
    With no money or means to gain access to it, there was no choice but to walk back to the city, whether it be one mile or a hundred, there was simply no choice. He cut a pathetic sight, limping along beside the road, hair and clothes dishevelled, bag dangling at his side like a bag of spuds. Since the distance of the journey was in the order of hours, he tried not to focus on the journey, letting his feet do the work and thinking, while he kept a weary eye out for further ambushers.
    Mile upon mile he retraced his previous journey, the sun grew low in the sky as the day unwound. Standing at an intersection he tried to ignore the soreness of his feet, legs and head. It was in such a state that he didn't hear the car horn, well not until the fifth time. Looking blankly to his right he saw a woman waving at him, but this had to be a mistake, he didn't know any women out here, it had to be a case of mistaken identity. Waving at the occupant he remained rooted to the spot, he wasn't about to be fooled into approaching another potentially dangerous situation, he was staying right there on the side walk. The car it moved off, through the intersection, Brian pushed the button on the pole in front of him, and waited patiently.
    "I thought it was you." a voice came from behind him.
    "Yeah it's me." he agreed, feeling less that what he had been just a few hours ago.
    "My God," Jae witnessed a line of blood that had made its way from the wound, "what happened to you?"
    "Had a nice visit at that trailer park of yours, got mugged by a young boy - ain't life grand." the irony so thick it could almost be used as a breakfast spread.
    "You should take more care of who you turn your back on. So what are you going to do now, they took all your money of course."
    "Naturally, but they didn't take my gold fillings, so I'll be able to sell them and live another day or two." for some reason Brian just felt that irony was fitting in this situation, no matter how appropriate it really was.
    "It's too late for you to do anything about it today," she looked around her, as if considering her sanity, "I don't normally do this, but you strike me as a trustworthy kind of guy, and you have an honest face - I can offer you a comfortable chair..."
    "That's kind, really, I would find an excuse to say no, but I'm too tired and beat up to say anything but, thanks..." wondering all the while what this woman would say, if she knew the truth about this honest faced embezzler.
    They shared the car ride to the trailer park in mostly silence, except when Jae pulled the car into where she lived.
    "This is a different park to the one the kid showed me, that place wasn't anywhere as nice as this." Brian mused.
    "There are a lot of trailer parks around here, and some of them are renowned for their - ah, criminal intentions. Come on, let's get you cleaned up and fed, then you can tell me how come you're in this fix - I like a good story, and you look like you've got one to tell." with this she motioned him to follow her inside, and despite her kind words, he couldn't help looking for an assailant with some heavy object in their hands.
    The insides of the trailer were totally different to what Brian expected. The bland exterior had fooled him into expecting a bland, cluttered interior, but this was not the case. To the untrained eye the insides were as that of any normal home, and that was exactly how Brian took them.
    "Have a seat." Jae offered. "I'll just go and put the kettle on, then we can think about getting you cleaned up, some food, and where you are going to sleep tonight."
    Sitting as invited, the first thing he witnessed was the ultimate weapon, a computer with a phone connection - a weapon he was very proficient in utilizing. All he would need was an internet connection, some time, and he might be back in business - so to speak. The only danger was of being traced, though he didn't plan on staying here for long. The callousness of this action pricked at his conscience briefly, but it wasn't a very strong feeling, it passed easily, still it was like that fire, causing loss of life through his actions didn't gel with him. It was okay to steal from banks, but to steal a life, now that was something he could never do. This situation he found himself in, while not totally unexpected, was forcing him to reconsider his view point on a lot of things, and the values he previously had held so dear.
    "Now then, I think you should let me have a look at that cut on your head."
    "I'm sure it's just a scratch." he protested at such concern.
    "No, there's a lot of blood, and who knows what they used to lay you out - it could have been a plank full of rusty nails."
    "Oh." the idea of tetanus or worse hadn't even occurred to him, were his life survival skills that low?
    For a few minutes Jae dabbed at the cut on Brian's skull, sensibly wearing neoprene gloves from a first aid kit. It was a sad sign of the times, such need for protection, but the action actually reassured Brian, the idea being that this woman valued her life, so it might be possible that she valued others?
    "Now then," she smiled at him, "would you like a coffee, maybe a danish?"
    "Good guess..." he accepted, feeling further reassured at the thought of familiar food.
    Jae returned a few minutes later with wares very similar to that of the coffee shop, but this time there was no charge.
    "You didn't have to do this." Brian stated the obvious.
    "Yes I did," she corrected him, "I've been in tight spots before, not knowing where my next buck would come from, stared down the barrel of oblivion..."
    "So?" asking what this had to do with him.
    "I can spot a lost soul a mile away, you remind me of me when I was lost." showing sympathetic understanding.
    "I wish I could repay your kindness..."
    "There's more than one way to repay kindness, and it doesn't always have to be money, for instance, what do you know about computers?" indicating to the one sitting not so far from them.
    "Quite a bit, why?"
    "Well it's got a few problems, and I haven't been able to find any one who would fix it, not without wanting a favour or money in return - so how about a trade?"
    "Sounds like a great idea." feeling confident in his abilities, and glad that he would be able to repay the kindness Jae had to shown to this stranger - himself.
    "Well there's plenty of time. I would like to watch the news, catch up on some emailing and do some homework."
    "Home work?" at her age?
    "I do some free lance editing of books, sort of a left over from when I was considered by society to be more useful."
    "So why aren't you now?" Brian had to ask.
    "My age bucko, this is a society of youth, and if you don't have that, power, or folding green stuff - well you just have to take the scraps from the table like all the other dogs. That's why I'm helping you - you look like you've come from money, and that you don't have it any more..."
    "You got that right, but I think in my circumstances, I am to blame for my predicament." a confession for sure.
    "Well blame can be a two edged sword, you can cut yourself down with it - or fight your way out of a scrape - I think it's up to you which way the blade will cut."
    "Fight or retreat?" words he had not expected from this woman.
    "Yes, face the world or retreat from it. My husband faced such a dilemma some years ago, and he chose retreat, only problem was he chose to try and drown his dilemma, and ended up drowning him instead."
    "What swimming, boating accident?"
    "No alcohol..." she spoke the word as if it were linked with the Devil, which it might very well have been.
    "Drink." he nodded, such an easy retreat, that this society turned a blind eye to - almost condoned.
    "Anyway, enough of my past, let's face today and see what has happened." turning on the small television, retreating from the conversation and topics that held a million memories.
    They watched the television in a semi silence, remarking from time to time at the senselessness of the actions and violence, of the greed and cruelty that seemed to be coming common place. After an hour Jae left Brian to watch the television, while she attended to the task of receiving and answering email, doing a few small alterations on a book she was working on. Bored with the television after a time Brian joined her, curious as to her actions.
    "It doesn't pay for much, if anything, but I love this editing thing - I suppose it's my way of doing something I don't think I could do well."
    "Which is?"
    "Write a novel, but I know I can take one and make it better..."
    "So isn't that as creative or more so, than producing the thing in poor shape originally?" it seemed logical.
    "Creation has always been valued more than refinement, inventors praised - factory workers despised."
    "But these are novels we are talking about, aren't they just as artful as painting paintings, more artful than making toasters?"
    "Funny you should say that, but not as far as artists and investors are concerned. Painting, sculpturing, music, making money, these are seen as pure art, while poetry seems to be as close to artistry as writing gets. Again it's a sign of the time, television and movies have replaced the book to a great extent - so writing is seen as radio without sound, like radio is seen as television without pictures. Shame really, imagination being driven from mankind as if it were a disease."
    "Maybe it is, independent thought has always been at odds with those in charge." again Brian found it odd to be having such a heady discussion with some one who worked in a diner, or was this just his version of stereotyping those around him.
    "Normally I go to bed quite late," Jae broke from the discussion abruptly, shutting down the pc as she did, "but I had a real bad night's sleep last night, and it's been a busy day at work. I could use an early night to help put things right. So we'll get you some blankets and a pillow, you can chose where you want to crash, I believe the chair is pretty comfy..."
    From there Jae and Brian worked towards a common goal, of finding sanctuary in a bed, separate beds, a single goal. With bedding, pillow, torch, and pitcher of water at hand, there was but one last thing for Jae to do.
    "Now..." she produced a small black gun from nowhere.
    "Not you too!" the nightmare was complete.
    "Yes, me too..." aiming the gun she pulled the trigger.
    Waiting for the report and impact, Brian sat in a stunned silence, for neither came.
    "Sorry," Jae took note of the reaction to her words, "here take this, it's a water pistol, there's a stray cat been getting in at night - if you see it, shoot it."
    Brian snorted at the level of his paranoia, his distrust of people, it was in situations like this, where help was being given freely, he expected the plug to be pulled the most. The one thing the whole encounter with this woman had brought home to him was, that no matter what he thought he knew, or how much his situation seemed in control - he still had much to learn.