Bad Business Practice -Long Listed ONC2021

Chapter 16

Syd closed his ledger and wandered into the locker room where Harold was washing up and ready to leave work. He sat quietly on their bench and waited for Harold to come out of the washroom.

"Hey, Syd, something up?"

"Nope, just sittin' before I get ready to go too. Harold . . . I bin curious about how you got mixed up in all that nonsense upstairs, and about you and those post cards you were always getting. Seemed more to them than just a friend keepin' in touch."

"Just mistaken identity," Harold laughed.

"That all? And the post cards?"

"Something you want to say, Syd?"

"Are you involved in- in something illegal - outside of here, Harold? That bit with the investigator today, yellin' about puttin' you away?"

There it was, he thought. Of all the people to twig to the truth it has to be this old guy that I really love.

"I won't lie to you, Syd. I am involved in things outside of here, but they are far removed from all this . . . normal life, and I won't say any more about it except - end of topic." His smile was wry.

Syd considered the confession and clapped his hands together. He liked Harold and everyone was entitled to their own lives - God knows, he thought, his own was no model. He would give him the benefit of the doubt by not bringing it up again.

"Have a good night, boy. See you tomorrow."

"See ya, Syd." Harold stepped out into the approaching dusk.

********

Funny, he thought, pulling up his collar against a cool breeze, the weird paths your life can take over the slightest mistake. He reflected on his financially beneficial career and how that stupid accident so long ago had made it all possible. He didn't think his parents would have approved, but he was recognized as one of the best at what he did.

The breeze kicked up bits of litter, and he watched their fitful dance, comparing it to the recent episodes that had disturbed his own private world. Street lights came on shedding large pools of pale amber on the sidewalk and road; Harold hunched into his collar and continued his thoughts.

One stretch of a few weeks in a lifetime and everything changed; he mused about the irony of it. Another innocent mistake setting in motion the destruction of several lives, his own included . . . almost, thanks to the woman he privately fantasized over.

He chuckled aloud and stepped off the curb, slowing until a bus passed before jogging across the road. Cara popped into his head and he felt a little wistful. Probably too young for you Pope but hey . . . she'll be okay. At the corner he stopped and fiddled with the zipper on his coat while he listened.

Two footsteps and then silence.

He thought he had company, and he wondered if it was Tony or the persistent, Staines. He moved on, turning the corner and stopping again.

"No point trying to be sneaky I guess. I thought you made me."

"And who are you?" Harold saw a tall, well-built man with a pleasant face.

"People just call me George."

"Okay, George, why are you following me?"

"I've been asked to deliver a message."

The gun came out and Harold stepped back.

"I have really been an admirer, Harold. All those contracts and not a whisper of suspicion - even Deveraux. Now that was cold. I hope the girl appreciated what you did for her. Too bad you couldn't have rid yourself of your friend, Staines too." George chuckled as he attached the suppressor to his gun.

"You're from them, the chat room bunch."

"I am, and they are sorry about the decision taken but your rogue behaviour and the DA sniffing around is giving them a modicum of discomfort they wish to dispel."

"So I'm your contract."

"Alas, yes, Harold. Believe me, it's not a choice I would have made but then that's not my province. Ironic, isn't it? You were hired just a week ago to kill yourself and here we are making it all come true."

"I was just thinking how funny life was." Harold gave a soft snort. "I started in this business accidentally, and it seems that an accident will-" His head rocked back and inside an explosion of sparks was smothered by complete blackness. Harold never felt himself hit the ground.

"It was nothing personal, Harold Pope . . . just bad business practice." George pocketed his gun and walked away.

********

Cara Forrester opened the letter from the lawyer's office and read the contents. An anonymous benefactor had bequeathed the contents of an offshore account to her in the event of his death.

She staggered back against the counter in her kitchen and began crying. The letter read she should come into the lawyer's office to sign the necessary papers and receive the account number.

The only personal message read, 'Have a good life, Cara.' 

And that, my friends is how Harold Pope's career, as a contract killer, finally ended .

END

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