Die Alone

good effect, I now opted for the carrot. I pulled a wad containing £1,500 in cash that I’d counted out in Zafir’s flat earlier from the back pocket of my jeans, and threw it on the desk in front of a flustered Faz. ‘I just want the ID then I’ll be gone. OK?’
Faz’s eyes darted from the money to the gun sticking out of my waistband, then to my face, and finally back to the money, because in the end, like all criminals, he was greedy. And all the time I could see he was making a steady stream of calculations as he tried to work out whether or not a real police officer would behave like this. I can tell you with hand on heart that there is no way an undercover cop would bring a gun on an op to nail a fraudster, still less wave it around at everyone in the room. He’d be out of a job in minutes.
Evidently Faz had come to the same conclusion because he picked up the wad and counted out the notes with a practised yet shaky hand, while I stepped away from the desk so I could keep my eye on Beardie, who’d dropped his hands now and was scowling at me from behind the beard. I gave him a long look back and he was the one who turned away first.
‘OK, OK,’ said Faz, pocketing the money. ‘I can do this for you.’ He got to his feet and walked over to an adjoining door. ‘This way please. We need to take some photos.’
I pushed past Zafir who looked away fast, like he didn’t want to be seen with me – which to be fair to him he didn’t – and followed Faz into what looked like a tiny stock cupboard containing nothing more than office stationery; but then he knocked three times on the far wall, and it was suddenly opened from the other side, revealing a larger room much of which was taken up with high-end computer equipment, including a bank of fridge-sized printers. A group of three men sat working at adjoining desks. One of them was hunched over, painstakingly modifying a UK residence card, while another had a pile of passports on the desk next to him as he typed away on a keyboard. It was an impressive set-up but, unlike next door, the room was stiflingly hot with only one window, opening onto a flight of fire escape steps, letting in any air.
I wiped sweat from my brow and moved the gun so it was hidden by my jacket before going inside. A chair had been placed against the wall at the other end of the room facing a camera on a tripod, next to a photographer’s umbrella, and Faz invited me to sit down. None of the three young men paid me any heed as I took a seat but I did notice that Faz spent a long time looking through the camera as he took the photos, as if he was inspecting me from behind the lens. He was obviously curious to know more about me but had the good sense not to ask questions. I knew he’d speak to Zafir afterwards though, and that was a concern.
We finished up quickly and he showed me the photos. I wasn’t sure if it was paranoia or not but the images of the bearded bald man staring blankly at the camera suddenly seemed to look a lot more like me than I’d been expecting.
I told him the photos looked fine.
He nodded. ‘Good. You come here with Zafir tomorrow evening at six o’clock and the documents will be ready for you. The passport will even fool airport scanners.’
‘It’d better do for three grand.’
‘You’re getting a bargain, my friend, I can promise you that. Six p.m. tomorrow, OK?’
I didn’t like the way he looked at me as he spoke. He was smiling but there was something reptilian in his expression, as if somewhere behind his eyes he was sizing me up as prey.
I gave him a hard look. ‘Just don’t try to fuck me about.’
The smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed. ‘I’m a businessman. I don’t fuck anyone about.’
Which was almost certainly not the first lie he’d told today but I let it go.
However, when I was outside with Zafir I laid my cards on the table. ‘You come with me tomorrow to get the stuff,’ I said, leaning in close to him, ‘and make sure he doesn’t try anything stupid or I’ll kill you both. You got me?’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ he said, leaning backwards. ‘Chill out.’
‘Give me your phone number.’
He reeled it out and I keyed it into the phone Tina had given me, then immediately called it. It started ringing in his pocket.
‘You really don’t trust me, do you?’ said Zafir, looking genuinely put out.
‘I don’t think I need to answer that,’ I told him, then turned and left him there.

11
Alastair Sheridan loved his Chelsea mews house, tucked away behind the King’s Road, an oasis of calm amid the bustle of the city. He spent as much time as possible here, away from his wife and child back in their constituency home. His wife bored him. He’d only married her for appearances’ sake. She was attractive – ten years his junior and a former model – and adequate in bed, but she had no real sense of adventure, of excitement. She’d never push any boundaries. She was a good breeder, but that was it. They’d produced a fine-looking boy whom Alastair supposed he loved, although he still wasn’t entirely sure since he had very little concept of what love actually was. When people talked seriously and passionately about how they’d die for their children, Alastair smiled and nodded and agreed with them, but inside he wondered what on earth they were talking about. He wouldn’t die for anyone. Why would