Stony Weather
by T.P. Keating
I wafted the crow tattoo on my flat palm from side to side. Accompanied by my soothing words, I soon had Ben Gashi, alias the Lord of Larceny, deeply hypnotized.
"What do you see?" I whispered.
"A combination lock."
"What sequence will open it?"
"2, 5, 3, Q."
When I snapped my fingers, he paid my very reasonable fee and I ushered him out. Criminals are such a gullible bunch, thankfully. After all, they represent a substantial portion of my clientele.
I owed it all to the late Dropkick Monroe. His one-man advertising campaign on my behalf soon worked wonders for business. Since then, no gossip about crime and criminals is too small to interest me. Armed with details of a felon's latest escapades, they can often reveal rewarding nuggets when under hypnosis. If Ben's recent raid proved as lucrative as street-chatter believed, I'd soon be on a never-ending holiday, given that I now knew the sequence to his combination lock.
Well, there is some stuff that Dropkick Monroe isn't responsible for. Look, I'll be upfront from the start. My Transylvanian heritage allows me a certain sway over common mortals. Though it's only a distant family link on my mother's side, I hasten to add. Really, the sun does me no more harm than to produce a mild skin allergy, which over-the-counter medication keeps at bay. I'm a masseuse with old blood in my veins, who mesmerizes her clients into believing that they've received their money's worth. Where's the harm in that?
My diet is firmly under control too - a good chunk of blood pudding once a week is more than sufficient for my needs. The idea of anything stronger makes me feel positively queasy. As for dressing all in black, I'll leave that to self-pitying teenagers. Mine is just another scene, you know? After all, this is multi-cultural Britain. Live and let live. It's not like I sneaked into the country in a fishing boat, while hidden inside a coffin.
It was noon and I didn't have another client until 2 o'clock. Grabbing my floppy purple sun hat and raffia shoulder bag, I rushed my sandalled feet along the hot Pimlico streets, towards Victoria Station and the nearby office that contained the wall safe of destiny. The last week of May saw the first proper summer weather, which with the start of June now threatened an imminent thunderstorm. So London. Often I'd wanted to say to my clients, "If you carry on with your unhealthy lifestyle, then I see a tiny prison cell looming large". Soon it would all be history.
A good luck spell came unbidden to my lips as I entered the building. Without looking up from the post she was sorting, the dolly-bird receptionist announced "Mister Gashi of Gashi Import and Export is not here at the moment, and he isn't due back until later this afternoon." I didn't reply. Under my influence, I'd strongly suggested a long liquid lunch to him - not that he required much persuasion. She deigned to glance my way. "Connie, great to see you. Love the hat. So, Ben's still stressed?"
"Long may he fret, his stress is my regular income. I left my address book upstairs last week. Mind if I go and get it?"
"Knock yourself out." Thank heavens I gave visiting massages for the hard at work executive. I'd seen him using the safe and I descended on it. The numbered dial turned beneath my bony fingers and the door opened smoothly. Random chance be damned, tomorrow called me with the voice of spun gold itself.
On a necklace of cheap pebbles hung a 2-inch diameter circle of flat, unadorned grey stone. That was it? The ill gotten gains from the so-called theft of a lifetime? Pathetic. I toyed with the idea of suing for the stress caused to an innocent burglar. After all, our courts loved to defend the easily upset victim nowadays. Nah, screw it. I stowed the stupid street market junk in my shoulder bag and closed the safe, taking care to wipe off my prints.
No good, the anger returned. I yanked the disc back out and grabbed it tight, intent on hurling it down and crushing it beneath my cruel heel. Damn, I didn't have my usual stilettos, just these stupid hippy-dippy sandals. "Drop dead, Ben Gashi, Lord of Lunacy more like it." That felt better. With my anger exorcised, I decided to hypnotize Ruby on reception, so that she'd forget all about this little visit.
Was Ruby crying? "It's Ben," she said, as I approached. "He's just been shot dead in a pub." I felt dreadful for wishing him harm.
"This country, I don't know." I shook my head. "Will you be alright?"
"Yes, thanks. The policeman on the phone said he'd be along shortly."
Blast, that meant I couldn't influence her. Without thinking, I'd once more retrieved the pointless necklace. "Look, it might be rather awkward if my name came up during their interview," I said. "How about you never saw me? I'll pay you. Hmmm?"
"What's that?" Poor creature, the news seriously disorientated her.
"Forget you've seen me." Her eyes glazed over for a few seconds.
"Hi Connie, didn't notice you come in. Have you heard the news about Ben?" She told me about the shooting again. Started sobbing again. Wow, could this necklace possess the power to control minds?
"That's truly awful. Trouble is, I can't hang around, I've got another client due shortly. Look after yourself. Bye."
"Will do. Bye."
Theft of a lifetime? More like the theft to end all thefts. Although a course of action began to propose itself to me, I needed to run a few tests on the power of this amulet. Birdbrain here didn't really count. How did it work? I suspected some kind of military technology. An aid to sapping the will of the enemy, disguised as a charm to hold greater sway over the credulous. Frankly, I only cared if it worked.
A test. I wanted a straightforward, accurate test that proved the whole occurrence didn't merely represent a coincidence. So many people confuse coincidence with cause and effect. I should know, I made a steady living out of their ignorance.
He'd do. That young lad with enough designer labels to open a shop.
"Excuse me." I made sure not to touch the amulet.
"Yeah?"
"Can I have your watch?"
"Very funny, lady."
I held the disc between thumb and forefinger. "Can I have your watch?"
"Sure." He undid the strap and handed it over with a winsome smile. "Will there be anything else?" He'd begun to speak like a Bond Street shop assistant who smelled money.
"The contents of your wallet."
"Absolutely." He shoved a mass of bank notes my way. I played a hunch.
"Do you work?"
"My parents set up a trust fund for me, actually." Such a surprise.
"Well, that's it then. Bye."
"Yah, see you." I scurried off in the opposite direction, in case his critical facilities came back too soon. Then again, judging by his choice of labels, that didn't seem likely. I headed for my rented pad, to tidy up and clear off, ready for a reward of indolent luxury that didn't involve fiddling state benefits.
I was perched on my old wicker travel case, to get it closed, when a knock came at the door. Sod it, I'd forgotten about the 2 o'clock appointment.
"George, I'll be with you in a tick." He knocked again. "Sorry George, won't keep you long." With the final buckle done up I took a breath and opened the door. "You're not George."
A sickly-grey looking monolith of a man stood before me, wearing clothes that appeared frightfully medieval. For a split-second I worried about catching the plague. "Are you an actor?" I asked.
"I am London," he intoned in a deep, gravely voice.
"Pleased to meet you. Are you a friend of George's?" He moved forward and I had no choice but to concede ground and let him in. "Look, Mister London..."
"I have come to retrieve the amulet." My, but that rumbling bass of a voice must thrill the theatre audiences.
"Pardon me?"
"The amulet, it shall be returned." What a ham.
"Setting aside all the retrieving and returning stuff for the moment, who the hell are you to barge in like that?"
"I am London. I was here before the first druid came and I'll be here after the final brick has crumbled. Some call me the Grey Stone Avenger, but I am London."
In fact his skin did have a dusty, rock-like look to it, and he could've taken a moment to wash off those odd crimson blotches before venturing out. If not an actor, then an undercover government agent, disguised in a way that played on superstitious minds, like the amulet he wanted to pinch from me.
"Just wait here and I'll get it for you." Some spook, to fall for that old trick, although the crammed travel case did help to suggest my imminent return. With just my light vanity case in hand, I snatched the necklace and opened the window. By stretching to my full length and letting my stilettos fall to the ground before me, I had a drop of only six feet to negotiate. Easy. My deadly heels back on, I raced off to the main road and hailed a taxi.
"Where to?"
I used my charm. "Would you mind driving around central London for a while, without being paid?"
"Of course, sweetheart. Any particular route?"
"Aimless is fine."
"You've got it. Here, let me close the glass partition to give you some peace and quiet."
We headed towards Hyde Park Corner. Good, I'd made some time for reflection. Obviously, the government agents would find their toy and me sooner rather than later. So, I needed an instant get rich plan. A bank. That's it. Lots of untraceable cash.
"Park outside this bank, stop your meter and wait for me, please."
"Will do."
I joined a queue and concentrated on looking nonchalant. A horse-drawn carriage drew up outside - not exactly an everyday sight. Whatever. The queue edged forward and I cranked up the nonchalance. A cold, heavy hand fell on my shoulder. How on earth could security be on to me? I'd claim false imprisonment, a breach of Human rights should provide a lucrative settlement. I risked looking behind me. "Oh, you again."
"I am London."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"Succumb to your baser instincts and you will never recover."
"Is that a line from your play? Are you in rep?" But he didn't reply. "What will you do with the amulet? Flog it at a car boot sale?"
"It shall be destroyed."
If he was London, then he was a dull, unfashionable suburb with crappy local services and dirty streets. His gaze didn't waver from me, while we shuffled towards the head of the queue.
"Bugger it, here's your stupid ornament." I threw it into the air and strolled away in a huff.
"Wait!" he said. Like a lemon, I waited. "Do you see this garish leaflet?" I nodded. "It is for a most worthwhile charity. Give the money that you stole from the young man to this charity, and you will have truly triumphed over the inferior side of your nature. Here, do not miss your turn."
Incredibly, I found myself complying with a chipper smile. Not until we'd left the bank, when he'd crushed the amulet to dust in one hand and carted himself off, did my sanity check back in.
"Oi lady," a man shouted. The taxi driver was getting out of his cab. "What about my fare?" Using every last drop of my own innate power, I just about managed to convince him that he'd been paid.
I'd learnt my lesson. Crime was a mugs game. Next time, I'd only take a necklace if the rightful owner were wearing it. London had shown me that much.
The End
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