When Rod got back to the island bungalow, the computer was bleeping madly. Jasmine was nowhere to be seen. Rod put on the headset and microphone and switched on the video camera that sat above the screen. The face slid like an apparition from the bottom right-hand corner of the screen, bounced several times in the centre of the screen and said:
“I hope you’ve got good news for me this time.”
“Er, not exactly,” said Rod. “There were some difficulties.”
The friendly smiling professorial face started to take on a distinctly wolf-like expression.
“When I got there the target was just getting into a car to leave. Of course I followed him, but they must have seen me and they gave me the slip.”
“You said ‘they’, what do you mean ‘they’?”
He had a woman with him; she was driving. The man didn’t seem to be very well. She was helping him into the car when I arrived.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got the registration number of the car, did you?”
Rod spelt out the registration number of the vehicle, feeling comforted that he had done something right.
“I’ll check out the registered keeper of the car,” said the face, “we might be able to get a lead from that.
In the meantime, I have an urgent job for you. It could replace the money that you lost today by not completing the job. ”
“I really like the work I do for you,” said Rod, uncomfortably. “I want to be good at it so you can rely on me.”
“Well, well see how you get on tonight. At least you’ll be with people whove got experience. They will collect you at midnight. Youll need your facemask and your gun. This is a big one. If you screw up in any way,” the face transformed completely into a wolf, “you are dead. Get it? Road kill. Fish bait. Whatever you say. You will not be in the land of the living. Jasmine will have to find somebody else to run around after.”
The threat could not have been put more clearly. Rod swallowed several times and fumbled with a boil on his neck as a distraction.
“You can rely on me,” he said. He wished his voice were steadier. He didn’t want the face to know that he was afraid.
“Just make sure you get it right, this time!” The wolf her face slowly disintegrated and disappeared from the screen.
At exactly midnight, a minibus with blacked out windows collected Rod from where he stood in the darkness on the riverbank. There were five large hard faced men inside. The driver, who was also clearly the leader of the expedition, told Rod what he had to do. Rod could almost smell the tension in the minibus. Computer Face had been right; this was big time.
Half an hour later, exactly as planned, the mini bus passed through the outer defences of a large country house. It was easy. They didn’t even have to stop. The driver pressed a button on a remote control and the large wrought iron gates swung open. The mini bus sped up the drive and had hardly stopped at the front door with its large pillars on either side before its passengers were out and up the steps. The leader rapidly tapped in the combination that opened the door and switched off the alarms. Everything was going smoothly - like clockwork.
Rod followed, almost in a daze but deeply excited, adrenalin flowing. This was the life! This was where he wanted to be; with the pros. Everything happened fast, yet they were completely silent.
The sole occupant of the house hardly had time to wake up before they were in his bedroom and pushing a gun in his face. It took scarcely three minutes for him to tell them where his safe was. Only three blows to his head with a gun were needed to convince him to speak. This was one of Rod’s jobs. In the minibus, the leader had told him to use glancing blows, causing maximum pain and bleeding but that would not concuss and Rod got them exactly right. It made him very proud.
The gang then split up, taking a room each, and worked methodically to strip the walls of paintings and the furniture of objet d’art. The owner of this grand house had been quickly bound and gagged and left on the floor of his bedroom.
Rod felt great about the whole thing. He was in the big time money and he was striking a blow against the people he most hated - the rich and wealthy.
Soon the minibus was fully loaded and the leader gave the command to leave. As smoothly as they had to come, they departed. It was a clean job, even to the point of leaving the gates tidily locked behind them.
Ten minutes later, they met a much larger container van in a dark country road and their haul was efficiently transferred. Two men stood guard, one out each end of the road while the others made the switch, hanging the paintings securely on the walls and laying out the objet d’art on special shelves.
A pair of lights suddenly appeared down the road. For a second, Rod thought they were discovered but the guard at that end of the road simply waved the car on and seconds later a young tousle headed man was herded into the van, protesting all the time.
“This is most irregular. You threaten me and you smash up my car. If you want a valuation, why don’t you just ring where I work and you can have all the valuations you want - and not in the middle of the night, either. If you’d said where you wanted the valuation done, I’d have never said ‘yes’ whatever you’d have done. Oh, my God … they are beautiful.” The aggrieved voice had just caught sight of the insides of the container lorry.
Then there was a gruffer voice, slightly foreign, the leader of the gang.
“5,000 for the valuation like we said and, as a bonus, you can take your pick of the objet d’art - just one. In return, you do a proper valuation. On the other hand, if you get the valuation wrong or squeal to anybody, for each car light that ‘unfortunately’ got broken, you can reckon it’s going to be one or more of your bones.”
“Well I didn’t realize you were such a good employer. A chap doesn’t mind putting himself out for a good employer.” The high pitched voice had completely lost its’ tetchiness. In its’ place was a subservient wheedling.
“Who says violence doesn’t pay,” thought Rod, with pride.
Then, when the valuation was completed and the valuer departed, they were away in the now empty minibus back to London. Rod was the first to be dropped off; in his pocket was a roll of notes, his pay-off for the nights’ work.
Back home, he quietly entered in his bedroom and checked the system clock on the now silent computer. It showed the time was three thirty in the morning. Jasmine was asleep in the bed, snoring gently. Rod thought of waking her to celebrate but didn’t. Instead, he went into the front room, lounged on the couch, smoked a joint and watched the dawn come up. It had been a perfect night - “big time”. He decided not to talk about it to Jasmine. The less she knew, the better. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. Eventually his eyes became heavily and he dropped off to sleep with a pop radio station playing in the background.
“Tea?” said Jasmine. Rod opened an eye and tried to focus. Then his second eye joined in. Finally, he gained minimal use of his limbs and took the cup of tea, mumbling his thanks. Jasmine padded over to the window with her tea and a plate of biscuits. Her long fair hair cascaded sleepily over her shoulders. She was a wearing baby doll pyjamas with the top falling far short of her tummy button. Rod noticed that she had acquired a ring in her navel.
“Where did you get to last night,” she said, conversationally.
“I had a job,” said Rod. “It went Okay.”
“Where was it?” said Jasmine.
“Around,” said Rod, vaguely. “What you don’t know can’t get you into trouble.”
“I wanted to talk to you about this work. It’s all getting a bit scary for me,” Jasmine said, uncertainly. “Sometimes I wonder what we’ve got ourselves involved with. Also, I’m not at all sure we could get out of it if we wanted to.”
Rod stood up and stretched. “Well I don’t want to get out of it. It’s a shitty world and this is one of the few things that have gone right for me.”
“But doesn’t it worry you that it’s dishonest and illegal,” said Jasmine.
“Yes,” he said to himself, “who cares?”
Aloud he said: “It doesn’t matter what you do, there’s always somebody bigger than you pulling the strings. What’s the difference?”
Jasmine looked at him, still in his black polo necked T-shirt and black jeans. He was tall and heavily built but she felt his words were defensive. Big didn’t mean confident, she thought herself.
“All my life people had been putting me down,” Rod continued. “The others in the class at school were always cleverer or helped more by their parents so they got the better grades. All I had was my size and weight and, when I used that, everybody turned against me.”
He reached over and took two biscuits, crushing them between his teeth angrily with the memory of the taunts.
“First they give you a hard time at school, then when you grow up, it’s the same at work. If you’re born a loser, you have to decide whether you want to be a loser for life. You have to decide whether you want to take a grip and if you do you must then take your chances. I reckon that this organisation knows what it’s doing and I’ve never had it better. Why should I give it up?”
He reached out and grabbed her by her wrist and pulled her to him roughly. In the corner of his eye, he could see that the boats were now active on the water outside.
“Ouch, you’re hurting me,” winced Jasmine.
“Besides, if you want to leave the circus, you’d better make sure you don’t screw it up for me.”
“But have you really thought it out,” Jasmine said. “What will you do with the money? OK, there is a lot of it but where are you going to put it. If you put it in a bank or a savings account, you might have to explain one day where it’s come from. Then where would you be?”
Now she was closer to him, her tone became more persuasive. Arguing with Rod at close quarters was unhealthy. He was too likely to lash out with his fists when he started to losing, which didn’t take long.
Rod absentmindedly played with the top of her baby dolls and then slipped his hand inside. She felt warm and soft and he could feel himself responding. He released her wrist and reached down to slip his hand inside the trousers of her pyjamas, enjoying the feeling of power and the way it made Jasmine catch her breath.
“What were you thinking of having for breakfast?” Jasmine said. Her voice was less strident now, deliberately silky.
She pushed herself against him, smiling uncertainly as she felt his desire. Then with a sigh that only she heard, she moved her hands around his waist. Using her femininity was her only weapon to feeling less vulnerable against his large bulk.
Rod moved his hand from her front and crooked her head into his elbow, forcing her lips up to his. After a few minutes, she started to kiss him back. He liked the way that Jasmine kissed. The girls at the arcade always led with their tongues, Jasmine rubbed her lips against his, played and teased with the different parts of his mouth. Only when she had explored all the possibilities of his closed mouth, did she insert her tiny pink tongue between his lips. Once her tongue found his, the game would begin again. Gentle exploration, at first, darting here and there, always returning to delicately touch the tip. Then at last her tongue would reach out hungrily and embrace his fully. She seemed to enjoy doing one thing at a time and doing it perfectly. Once she had explored his mouth, she would then move on with tiny caresses to explore, with her hands, Rod’s more sensitive parts. On a good day, where her hands had first explored, her lips would eventually follow.
With her eyes closed, Jasmine was resigned now to go with the flow. She felt Rod reach down underneath her legs to lift her off her feet. For a moment, Rod’s strength almost made her feel safe. She kept her eyes closed letting her tongue continue its’ dance with his while he carried her into the bedroom. Dreamily, she thought how different Rod was to Beaver. Rod was strong, aggressive and had stamina. But Beaver was artistic. Every moment, with Beaver, was a new and creative experience. With her eyes still tightly shut, she imagined it was Beaver now above her, pulling at her clothes. He would soon be caressing her in new ways. This renewed her excitement. In return, she would give herself to him, completely and fulfillingly. Joyfully, she reached out to pull him to her and, in her dreamy imagination; the hard masculinity to which she surrendered was Beavers’. And it was Beaver’s name she wanted to call out when it was all over - but far too soon - because it was not with Beaver.
Rod reached over lazily to the side of the bed for a cigarette.
“You’re the best,” he said.
Jasmine reached over, pulled the cigarette from his mouth and took a deep drag. She felt irritated and disappointed.
“You mean there are others?”
“You know what I mean,” said Rod evasively.
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Jasmine. “Saying someone is the best implies that there are others. Perhaps you should tell me who they are. Is this a contest, anyway, or what?”
Now Rod was getting irritated. He knew whom he’d been thinking of when he said it but he wasn’t going to make any admissions.
“You women,” he said, “you don’t know how to take a compliment and you think too much!”
“Perhaps it’s just that men don’t think enough,” said Jasmine.
Of course, she didn’t just mean any men, in particular she meant Rod. In that moment, she resolved with determination that she would find some way to see Beaver as soon as possible. He understood her.
