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that, too.” Pushing his hair back behind his ears, he waited for me to answer, but I was silent.
“There’s something else going on, something weird, something big. But I don’t know enough
about it yet.”
“How do you know something’s going on?” I was careful with every word.
He shrugged. Maybe he heard something odd in my voice, and was wondering whether he
should have kept his mouth shut. A spot on the pavement between his trainers was suddenly of
the utmost interest. “I’ve been around. I know.”
I bit my lip. “If you think it’s something criminal, maybe you’d better go to the police.”
He let out a snort of derision. “Is that what you are, Freeman? A cop?” He stared back up at me,
suddenly intense.
I gazed back. “No,” I said, drily. “I’m not a cop. I’ve done too many things in the past that
wouldn’t look good on an application form.”
“But you’re not one of them, either,” he said, meaning the inhabitants of G's world.
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“No.” I seemed to be saying that a lot. “Not any more.”
He frowned. "You source things..."
"I get people what they need," I said, quietly. "If I take them on as a client, I get it for them.
Whatever it is. Whatever it takes."
Kit didn't seem to want to take it further. He shifted on the bench and sighed. “You go your own
way.”
I nodded. It was a fair summary. I curled my fingers around the handles of my shopping bags,
gathering them together, ready to get up and leave.
He cleared his throat: looked down at the pavement again. “Can I come round again? To your
place?”
I grimaced.
“You cook good eggs, you know.” He pulled a face at me, embarrassed, but there was a plea in
his dark eyes that spoke far more eloquently than his joke.
“Anyone can teach you that,” I said, gently.
“So you teach me,” he fired back. “When I come round.” When I hesitated, he put his hand on
my shoulder. “You don't want to stop seeing me, do you?” It was so typical of him; swagger
wrapping itself around uncertainty, seeking to protect it like a shield. I knew how fragile that
bluster could be. He could be hurt so easily, though I doubt he admitted it to anyone, not even
himself.
But he spoke some truth, too. His hand was gripping me: I felt the pressure of his fingers through
my jacket.
I smiled. “OK. Come and help me unpack this stuff and we’ll have some lunch.”
He leapt to his feet, grinning. “Then you can tell me about it all, right?”
“Maybe,” I said. “But first –“ His eyebrows rose, watching me, suddenly cautious again.
“First, you can learn to cook the eggs,” I finished, firmly.
Freeman - Chapter 7
We both sat at the table in my lounge, relaxing. The afternoon had drifted into evening without
me really noticing. It had been a pleasant time and we'd both found enough to do so that we
avoided getting under each other's feet. Kit had folded some laundry for me, half-watched a
couple of films. He'd always been fascinated by my vinyl collection and spent some more time
on his knees by the shelves, browsing through. I hadn't done any work, but it wasn't a problem.
We chatted occasionally; aimlessly. He was waiting his chance, I knew.
The lunch invitation had become an early supper, and the plates were now cleared. I was eating
some fruit and Kit was still working his way enthusiastically through the bread basket. He’d made
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us both a fine omelette, with herbs and mushrooms. Of course, the kitchen looked like a small
thermonuclear device had been set off in there, but I’d live with that.
He saw my eyes flicker over the mess by the sink. “I’ll clear it up,” he said, ruefully. “I’m a fully
qualified washer-up, you know.”
We both grinned. “In a while,” I said. “No rush.”
We picked our glasses up off the table and went over to sit on the couch. There was some reality
show due to start on TV that he'd said he was following. “It was an excellent meal,” I said.
“You’re taking the piss,” he growled, but he was still grinning.
“I’m not,” I protested. “When you live on your own, you have to learn to do these things properly.”
“You mean cook eggs?” He wrinkled his nose.
“Everything,” I smiled back.
“But I don’t live on my own,” he said. The information startled me, like a slap out of the blue.
“Sure,” I said, slowly. Of course. “I didn’t know.” I wouldn’t, would I? I’d not wanted to know
anything about his domestic arrangements before. I’d kept my secrets, and so had he.
He flushed. “Well, not exactly. I mean, there are other guys in the place, though I’ve got my own
room.” He glanced up at me, defensively. “I mean, it’s crap, really small, but it’s mine. I’ve got a
key and everything. It’s near the club. I think G owns the building…”
“Yeah, he does.” I knew it. It was where his new staff stayed until they got lodgings of their own.
He didn’t often house his boys there, though, the turnover being rather more swift. And it seemed
a public flaunting of his screwing around which I knew his family wouldn’t approve of. That
included his wife.
“You look weird, Freeman,” Kit said. His voice was tight. “Tell me what it is between you two. I
don’t know what to think about you, half the time.”
“You wanted to see the programme…”
“I don’t give a fuck about the programme,” he snapped. “Don’t treat me like a kid.”
I drew in a sharp breath. “Is that what I do, Kit?”
He scowled. His eyes looked even darker and his face was flushed. “Shit. No, you don’t. Fuck,
you’re the first one who doesn’t. But you make me mad. You know what I mean.”
It wasn’t a bad apology. And I had been patronising. I drew a careful breath.
“I worked for him, seven or eight years ago. When I first moved to the city.” It felt like I was
describing another time, another man. Once upon a time… “My wife found me the job – she
knew G, knew he needed some help setting up a computer network for his new business.”
“You good with computers?”
“Good enough.” I took a drink from the glass of water and wished for a moment that it were
something stronger. “Then there were other areas I helped him with; logistics; accounting;
security. We did it all together, got everything up and running.”
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“Cool.” Kit’s voice was a murmur. “Partners.”
I nodded. “Yeah, it was good. We all got on OK together.” Whatever anyone said about G – and
that included me - the man had a talent for getting things done. He begged and borrowed and
sometimes stole, creating a small chain of offices across the city, offering complete logistic
packages for corporate businesses. We’d transport anything; clear anything; protect anything.
Full operations control, full security. Expensive, but exclusive.
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