Jade Monkey

The town was dark and cloaked with mist. A muted glow of electric lights far from the airstrip was the only sign of life as the fog muffled sound, and washed out colours till everything seemed grey.  The landing strip lights barely picked out the runway as I touched down. As the engine noise faded away everything seemed silent, still and lifeless. I was back in Loughborough. It had been a long time, but I couldn’t help wishing that it had been longer. While the propellers slowed, I sat and watched the baggage truck skim over what appeared to be a rolling grey sea till it pulled alongside and four guys in dark blue uniforms got out. Moving with practiced ease they opened the cargo bay and began carefully to unload the crate. That single wooden box wrapped with chain that was going to make coming back here worthwhile. After the baggage guys stowed it away on the truck I made my way to the Bridgeman hotel.

The Bridgeman hotel’s not the best in town, but its close. Cream brickwork worked with brass on the outside, plush carpets and mahogany on the inside. I thought I deserved some luxury after the flight and I could afford it for a few days.

A tux lay on my bed waiting for me, with a note from Pete on the lapel to drop it off at his place afterwards. Pete owns a bar near the film studios here. It’s where all the showbiz people go to drink. Not the stars or the directors, but the people who actually make films like extras and cameramen; people like that. Pete had been all of them at one point or another until he bought the bar, now he played the role of barkeep to perfection.

So in the comfort of my room I showered and began to squeeze myself into the suit. It was going to be a society do and I’d had strict orders to attend. A night of slim, rich people with polite drinks and good taste, society’s elite. Shaking my head at the thought I started to fix my hair in the mirror. It’d come through a lot that face, a few small scars here and there, but not really objectionable. Good enough, and the guy in the mirror grinned encouragement.

I took a Cab back to the airstrip. Two guys were waiting for me outside a hangar. The first was well built filling out his dark grey suit, he had brown hair a moustache and a bulge in his suit under the shoulder that said ‘gun’. The second was slimmer and a bit taller with dark blond hair. His suit was slightly lighter as well. He pushed the brim of his hat back and asked to see some ID.

Sighing I pulled my pilots licence out my back pocket.

He sniffed. ‘Well you don’t look like any Pilot I know.’

‘My flight jacket and flying goggles are in my plane.’

‘Very funny.’

He handed me back the licence.

‘Have you got the key?’ The other guy said.

‘I wasn’t expecting the Spanish inquisition’ I said.

‘Have you got the key or not?’

I reached inside my shirt collar and pulled out the key from around my neck.

‘Satisfied?’

‘For now.’

If this was all the thanks I got, this was going to be a fun evening.

A different set of matching baggage guys pulled up in a large black truck. Under the direction of my two friends, they started shifting the crate towards its tailgate. I stepped back out of the way, feeling a bit out of place in the Tux. I’d usually muck in and help, but I had a party to go to.

Charnwood museum shone through the fog like a beacon, the gothic architecture was lit by powerful electric lights that pierced the gloom of the fog. The two goons hadn’t said anything to me since the crate was loaded back at the hangar. Their wary eyes scanned the pavement back and forth, hands resting almost casually in their jackets. Why were they expecting trouble? I shook myself mentally, we were here now, and trouble was no longer my business.

They dropped me off at the side of the museum and I walked ‘round to the entrance. A white marble staircase ten meters wide flanked by stone lions led up to heavy oak doors. Smart looking doormen in red jackets smiled while their eyes warily checked invitations. I held up the battered piece of card with gold edges that had been in my flight jacket pocket for two weeks and was nodded inside.

The party was in full swing, waiters in smart black jackets circled the partygoers with fine crystal glasses balanced on silver trays. Slim hands held canapés and polite laughter rose from half dozen knots of people admiring the antiquities. I relieved the nearest waiter of a drink and went back to watching people. A well-dressed man in an evening suit was wandering from group to group, shaking hands, his bodyguard tagging along behind him. A brief smile some pleasantries and on to the next group. A large gold chain hung around his neck proclaimed he was the mayor.

‘The last set he was talking to was the Chief of Police’s group, now he’s moving on to talk to our hostess Ms Michelle.’

I hesitated looking down into my drink, not turning round. The voice was female, cultured and it knew the scene.

‘I thought I knew just about everybody here. So what it is the name of your newspaper?’

‘Newspaper?’

She laughed. ‘I’m so sorry, newspaper, I meant magazine. You are with the press aren’t you?’

I took a swift sip from my glass and turned around. She was wearing a silver grey silk evening dress, with pearl earrings and a sapphire necklace that set off her eyes. Her light brown hair was tied back, and she was smiling.

I remembered I had a voice and said. ‘No, not really.’

‘Oh? I can usually place people in society.’ She shrugged showing her opinion of society in Loughborough. ‘You don’t really fit in with the normal crowd here.’

‘Can’t say that I do.’

‘Too badly dressed.’

The grin that had been hanging on my face while I played ‘man of mystery’ fell, and she smiled widely and laughed. A few people turned round to look at us and we stared them down and they looked back to their own conversations.

‘Sorry I couldn’t resist. You looked so self satisfied. So, what do you do?’

I shrugged. ‘Ladies first.’

‘I’m an archaeologist.’

She studied me closely, waiting for a response.

‘And I’m a pilot.’

She narrowed her eyes, an impressive trick that after hours of practice in mirrors I still can’t do.

‘No I am – honestly.’ she started, and stopped.

My breath caught momentarily, as a man broke the flow of our good-humoured banter by walking up to me, hand out-stretched. I reached forward and shook his hand. I recognised the Mayor. Short dark blond hair with an air of self-importance, steeped in sarcasm. There was a look of valuation in his eyes that I didn’t like. Those eyes had too many unasked questions barely hidden under a thin coating of manners and a lot of hot air. Then he was gone, hailing someone else all smiles and good humour. The Gorilla he had as a bodyguard followed behind him, after giving my companion a long cold stare that she returned with interest. His glance at me persuaded me that I had just failed a test. It was not a good feeling.

I turned around to my guide. Her eyes followed the Mayor through the crowd. She sipped a drink I didn’t remember her picking up and seemed thoughtful for a while.

‘Well it’s been great meeting you Mr?’

‘Mr Jones’ I replied with a straight face.

She laughed. ‘Of course you are.’

I managed a quick grin.

‘I’ll find out eventually you know,’ she said.

I felt it almost subconsciously; a half remembered instinct picking up the sudden lack of space behind me and the movement of the weak shadows cast by the lights. I turned slowly. It was my two friends from earlier, dressed rather more seriously with their guns better hidden.

‘Not tonight though.’

A hand on my shoulder silenced the rest of the conversation. They didn’t need to say a word. It was time to find out what my precious cargo was and to open the padlocks on the crate.

They led me through the social elite of Loughborough. I had been enjoying my verbal jousting with the self-proclaimed archaeologist. I was more than irritated that I’d not got to know her name. ‘Another stranger, another hall’ or so the saying goes. Through a side door and we were walking past the history of ages. Down some stairs to the left and the corridor opened out into a wide storeroom. Crates of all shapes cluttered the room creating a maze of confusion.

‘If you wait here Miss Michelle will be with you in a minute.’

They moved purposefully amongst the crates, leaving me next to the package I had looked after for a fortnight. I stood there waiting for a while, listening to the retreating sound of the goon’s footsteps. I looked down at the chains binding the side of the crate and tapped them with my shoe. The noise they made in the deserted storeroom as they fell off seemed to crash like a wave and reverberate around the room.

I ran towards the door, following the direction the goons had taken. Hearing hushed voices coming from a room down the corridor I ran on. The large oak door was shut to and as I pushed it open time seemed to slow down. The sound of the gun firing in the small room was almost deafening. Smoke billowed from the gun barrel and the air smelt of cordite. The mayor of Loughborough, gold chain round his neck, slumped to the floor dead and I shouted something incomprehensible at his murderer. The figure in the long coat turned round, saw me and rushed for a door at the far end of the room slamming it closed behind them. Sightless eyes gazed up at me as I knelt down to take the mayors’ pulse. Nothing…damn.

Now they crashed through the door. Policemen in dark black jackets, their guns trained on me. I held up my hands. A man walked in from the hall unperturbed by the guns. Tall, dark blond hair, long black jacket and a face that when it wasn’t inspecting murder suspects looked as if was used to grins. ‘Cuffed, my squad car awaited. I have had better days.