Good Deed Bad Deed, Marcia Morgan [summer beach reads TXT] 📗

clear a room, change a mood, or put people off him for a variety of reasons. It was unlikely he could ever inspire loyalty, or more so, love. One or another of those with whom he made contact on a daily basis wondered how a man could end up isolating himself so efficiently.

He followed the other man through a short entryway into a small sitting room that seemed to be all there was to the flat. The room was stark and contained only a table, four chairs, and an electric heater. The wood floor held a shabby rug, and an L-shaped counter in one corner of the room served as a kitchen. A closed door on the opposite wall must have led to a bedroom. Without a single lamp in the room any illumination required would have to come from the glass dome light in the ceiling. Waiting at the table were two other men, one of whom he had never met. Although the fellow was seated, he could tell he was short and stocky. He sported a shabby plaid Tam O’Shanter, cocked to one side. The choice of cap and his kinky red beard advertised a Scottish heritage.

Lyle had never before seen the man who opened the door, nor did he make an effort to introduce himself. Linus had arranged the meeting place, and whether he had involved this man in their business was a question he intended to ask immediately. The man definitely had a sour temperament, but the most important thing Lyle had to learn was whether or not he could be trusted. He made an effort to be subtle while glancing sideways to visually scrutinize him. He was bulky, head to toe, and stood with his arms crossed, legs slightly apart, staring across the room at nothing. The coarse black hair on his face was less a beard than it was a sign of his laziness with regard to shaving. He wore a brown vest, baggy jeans, and ratty slippers. Considering his footwear, Lyle figured the flat must be his. He would have a private word with his associate as soon as they were finished—find out what he was up to with this Neanderthal.

In the other chair was his associate, Linus Finch, the unkempt man with the smelly jacket who had been a part of both efforts to kidnap Ben. He sat drumming his fingers on the table and looking from face to face. Finally he said, “Any beer around here? A pint would go down easy about now.”

Lyle was quick to respond. “This isn’t a pub. We’re here to get things organized, and I mean organized down to the last minute—no contingency unprepared for.” One empty chair remained, but he didn’t sit and instead began to pace around the table as he spoke. “The paperwork has been submitted. We have the woman right where we want her. She had no choice but to be quiet and acquiesce.” He stopped pacing and finally sat down at the table. “Time is not on our side. Let’s hear what you have lined up for the transfer.”

Linus Finch turned to his companion and asked, “Well, Fergus, did you find some lads you can trust?”

* * *

It had been less than a week since Fergus MacDonald made Linus Finch’s acquaintance. He had done nothing more than start an ordinary pub conversation with Linus while they stood at the bar enjoying a pint. One thing led to another, and with the help of alcohol he had revealed his history of skating just over the line where the law was concerned. He had been ‘inside’ a couple of times—nothing violent, just one break-in and a con that involved a high stakes card game. Although he treated it as a joke, he confided that he was lucky to be alive after the latter. Linus had suggested they order another pint, but Fergus declined, saying he had to meet a friend. He dug into his pants pocket several times for enough change to pay for his drink, but when tossing it on the counter he came up short.

Linus pulled a fiver out of his pocket and handed it to the barman. “No worries, mate, this one’s on me.”

Fergus’ objections fell on deaf ears, and he decided just to say thank you and let it go. Further conversation told Linus that this likeable man was in sore need of a break. In a hushed voice Linus bragged in general terms about his current involvement in a very ‘profitable job.’ He then asked Fergus if he would be interested in taking part—but only peripherally. There was no way Linus would give up any part of his share in the expected value. After all, he’d just paid a whopping £4 for the bloke’s pint.

Fergus tipped his cap to Linus in appreciation and said, “You’re a Godsend, mate. I’m in.” He paused before adding, “But I don’t do violence. Never have. But I can be a quite acceptable ‘dogsbody.’” They shook hands quickly before Linus scribbled his mobile number on a napkin, giving it to Fergus, who did the same.

* * *

Since that night, both men had been engaged separately in preparations and had only spoken by phone, this meeting being the first time they had seen each other since their encounter in the pub. Having been called upon to give his report, Fergus pulled a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket. He carefully smoothed it out on the table without saying anything.

Lyle said, “Sometime this year, if you don’t mind.” Fergus looked him in the eye and held his tongue while the dressing-down continued. “Did you or did you not find some strong lads who don’t ask questions?”

“Aye—yes. No worries on that front. There be plenty of young chaps out of work and resorting to a bit of shady this or that.”

“Remember, they are to know nothing except where to report and what to do. If any one of them asks questions, get rid of