Andy Lynch stepped off a United Airlines regional jet from Newark at Halifax International Airport. He wheeled a black carry-on to a Canadian Border Control desk after completing the digital entry screen and handed in his passport form inspection.
The agent scanned it, stamped it and handed it back with a customs form marked with a red marker.
“Thank you, Mr. Williams. Welcome to Canada.”
Andy walked to the officer standing at the gate, handed the form off and strode through easily. He picked up a rental car and drove fifteen minutes to Elmsdale Safe and Sound Storage. He collected a large black suitcase and hefted it into the trunk of the car. After a stop in Truro at a Swiss Chalet for food, coffee and a smoke outside, he jumped into the black Toyota Corolla and took the Veterans Memorial Highway north to the TCH and turned west to his destination, a cottage in the woods at Highfield in New Brunswick.
The timber cottage stood a little over a kilometre into a heavily wooded parcel of land. It was accessed by a narrow unpaved driveway and was very rustic and secluded. Only a very sophisticated operative would have noticed the layers of sensors, high definition cameras and tracking devices secreted in unobservable places along the trail and its environs.
Three hours later, Andy laid down on a sofa in the cottage, lit a smoke and took a one hour nap. He then took the suitcase from the trunk and carried it down to the basement where he opened it and checked that the contents hadn’t been tampered with and were in good condition after their eight weeks in storage, where he had left it before he flew out of Canada two months previously.
Happy that everything was in order, he pressed a hidden button on the electrical entrance and stored it behind the invisible panel that slid open in the wall beneath it, along with $10,000 in cash and his Irish papers. He then took a shower, changed his clothes and drove to Moncton, where he checked in to a room at the Crowne Plaza hotel on Main Street which overlooks the Avenir Centre, an events venue which was the object of his attention.
His training taught him to give up five to seven days to acclimatise and allow his brain to align with the local schedules. Jet lag always had a negative effect on his reaction speed and thought processes so he built that in to his schedules. Eastern Canada was a four hour time differential so he allowed a four day acclimatisation period. He’d use this time to monitor and refine, maybe have a little relaxation, and ramp up his exercise intake.
He’d chosen a British ID for the trip to Moncton, Jamie Jones, ostensibly a travelling representative of a London based property investment fund. He’d be Jamie Jones for the jet lag period, after which he’d wipe him from existence, back to his plot in Putney Vale cemetery. He checked the time on his Tudor watch, set to local time, 16:40. His vintage Patek Philippe Calatrava, given to him on his retirement from the Wolfhounds, the Special Forces battalion of the Irish Army, was set to Irish time and inhabited his right wrist when abroad.
He stripped naked in the hotel room and quickly donned a set of running clothes. He’d planned a quick 5k before dinner in the hotel restaurant, to take a quick reconnaissance of the local infrastructure and policing. He stuck his room card into his pop up wallet, strapped it to his ankle and headed out. Using a side entrance, he exited the hotel and turned left on to High Street, stretched out his calf muscles, watching his surroundings as he did so, and took off in the direction of the city centre.
Moncton was a bit of a slum. An ugly amalgam of older and newer buildings that had no real design or imaginative value. There didn’t appear to be any kind of coherent planning thread, almost as if the pre-construction modelling had been done using a Lego set. This, he was sure following his research was, in large measure, the fault of his target here in New Brunswick, Orville Kenneth Colin Irving the Third, or, indeed, the parasitic family that he led.
Irving Oil were ten years into a recalibration of their company business as they prioritised the improvement of their PR output to make themselves into the saints that they could never be. Andy knew from bitter personal experience just how cynical and clinical they were, as they had been since 1924, when the company was founded by KC Irving, and they gained a stranglehold on the provincial government, which they used as their personal bank. They siphoned off most of the tax income to build their empire, leaving the working classes financially destitute with little disposable income and consigned to a life of penury.
Andy stood to his full, six foot height, patted down his receding and greying hair and set off at a light jog along the sidewalk, amazed and disgusted at the lack of maintenance to the surface.
“Those fucking Irvings,” he thought to himself as he dodged the potholes, “if I break an ankle here I’ll pull that fucker’s head off.”
He stepped out onto the road and increased his pace, pushing his heart rate and generating a sweat in the humid air. The city seemed to end after a kilometre or so and he took a left onto Botsford Street and another left onto Mountain Road. He increased his pace again and maintained that until he saw the red roof of the hotel in the distance and decided to curtail his run in favour of a short nap. His odometer read 4.2 km.
He napped for forty minutes, showered and dressed in a non-branded navy blue Lacoste polo shirt, navy blue non-branded Tommy Hilfiger chinos and a pair of black non-branded Skechers slip on shoes. He exited the hotel through the side door again and strolled to a bar he had spotted on his run, The Auld Triangle, about halfway down the Main Street in a courtyard off the thoroughfare.
It was 19:00 and he aimed to stay awake until 23:00. By habit, he sat at a table in the corner, facing the door. A young girl, Debs, according to her name tag, brought him a menu and offered a drink.
“What do you have, Debs?”
She smiled at him.
“Are you English?”
“Sort of.”
“I thought so. Your accent.”
“I live in England, but you’re hearing an Irish accent.”
“Oh I should have known that. This is an Irish pub.”
“Well I’ll have to sample a pint of Guinness, won’t I?”
“We don’t have Guinness on draught,” she said.
“Ok. Water will be fine.”
“Still or sparkling?”
“Tap. To save time, can I have a medium rare steak, a side of steamed vegetables and no rice or fries please?”
“Garlic mash?”
“No thanks.”
“Fries, rice or mash is included.”
“I’m allergic to them all, Debs. I’m so sorry.”
“Oh don’t be. I’m allergic to nuts, I can’t even be near them.”
“Then you know what I mean.”
“I hear ya.”
Andy noticed that their interaction had been monitored from behind the bar by an attractive strawberry blonde haired woman who smiled at him when he caught her eye. He waved in acknowledgment.
She waited a few minutes and wandered over to his table.
“So you’re Irish?” she said.
“Yes.”
“Did Debs look after you sufficiently?”
“You were watching, you tell me.”
“She’s a bit ditzy at times.”
“Ditzy?”
“You know, vapid.”
“She’s just a kid, leave her be. Sorry, I don’t know your name. Deb, at least, wears a name tag.”
“I’m Colleen, I own the place.”
“Nice to meet you, Colleen. It’s a nice place.”
“Thank you.”
Debs returned with his water. Colleen looked shocked.
“Are you not having a drink?”
“I drink draught Guinness. You don’t sell it.”
“We have the widget cans.”
“They’re not the same.”
“It says on the tin that it’s the same Guinness.”
“I saw an ad for chocolate on the side of a bus in London last week. I jumped on it and there was no chocolate to be had.”
“Really?”
“No, Colleen. I’m winding you up.”
“Oh my God, that’s hilarious. Will you have a small one then?”
“I’ve had many insults in my life, Collen, but never about having a small one. Size isn’t everything.”
She looked at him, her mouth fighting a smile, he could see the mechanics of her brain trying to work out an appropriate reply.
“Well sometimes it is,” she said, eventually.
“Too slow, Colleen. You need to be sharper than that.”
“You Irish are just too quick.”
“Sometimes it’s better to be slow.”
“See? An instant answer. What? What does that mean?”
“Think about it, Colleen,” he pointed at a group of people waiting for drinks, “you have customers.”
“Shit. Thanks. I’ll be back.”
“Take your time.”
Deb brought his food over. The place wasn’t what you’d call overcrowded, but it was cosy. He had a few visits from Deb to see if everything was ok. She asked if he wanted dessert and coffee.
“No thanks, Deb. Can I get a hot lemon and ginger tea and a glass of water please?”
He was reading from a book he’d brought with him when he was disturbed by Colleen.
“I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have lemon and ginger tea.”
“Anything herbal?”
“Chamomile?”
“That’s fine, Colleen, thanks.”
“We don’t get many people looking for herbal tea in here, as you can imagine.”
“I suppose not.”
She brought the tea back, along with a plastic bottle of Spring Water.
“I didn’t order the water, Colleen.”
“Oh. I thought you did.”
“I ordered tap.”
“This is healthier.”
“No, it’s tap water that’s been treated.”
I showed her the label.
“I have another brand.”
“No, just a glass of tap water, please.”
“The bottled is healthier.”
“No, it’s not. Do you drink it?”
“Yes.”
“You should be careful what you put inside you, Colleen,” he smiled.
She laughed. “Should I? Any suggestions?”
“One or two things spring to mind.”
“Such as?”
“You have the advantage of me.”
“How?”
“You’re holding a potentially lethal weapon and you retain the high ground. It’s a negative combat position for me with drastically reduced odds on survival.”
“Say if I put the water down and came to sit beside you, would that make you feel safe?”
“Somewhat.”
She laughed as she put the bottle on the table. Adjusted some stray strands of hair that had encroached on her eyes and sat by him in the booth.
“This is nice,” she said.
“Yes, it is.”
“Ok, do you feel safer now?”
“Well, outward hostilities seem to have diminished. One never can be 100% sure though.”
“What would convince you.”
“Nothing less than a warm and comforting kiss from the lips of a beautiful lady, Colleen.”
“Oh. My,” she touched her face, “everyone will see.”
“That’s true. I apologise for mentioning it. I was way out of line, as you say over here.”
“No, no. Don’t be, if we were alone it wouldn’t cross my mind.”
“I’m relieved. I’d hate to upset you and have you think me creepy.”
She took his hand under the table. She placed her lips close to his ear and kissed it surreptitiously. She whispered,
“I get off in thirty-five minutes if you can hold that thought.”
“I’d wait forever, Colleen,” he whispered, and stole a kiss just the same. “I’ll have my tea and get some air in your smoking area. I hope to see you in about thirty-five minutes.”
Forty minutes later, she joined him and ushered him out to the street.
“Who’s in charge when you’re not there?”
“My husband. He just got in.”
“I see. I’m at the Crowne Plaza, do you want to have a drink there?” he asked.
“No. You promised me a kiss. I’ve never been kissed by an Irishman.”
They walked to the hotel and entered by the side door. In the lift they kissed as though they were long lost lovers, reunited. In his room they quickly undressed.
“I smell of beer and sweat,” she said, “can I take a quick shower?”
“Of course, Colleen.”
She ran into the bathroom and he heard the shower running. He slowly undressed and, naked, opened the door silently, stepped over her clothes lying on the floor and into the shower with her. From behind he soaped her breasts as his erection found purchase between her buttocks.
“Oh fuck, that’s good.” she said loudly.
He lathered his hand with soap and bathed her stomach with a soapy film, replenishing his fingers with residue from her breasts to let his hand bathe further down to her vagina and along her vulva, easily slipping a finger inside her to a moan of pleasure. He stroked her clitoris, slowly circling it with his fingers before tweaking it slightly and eliciting a scream as she took off.
She spun around, her face twisted with desire, her mouth seeking his. His erection caught between her legs at the point of her labia, just below her neatly trimmed landing strip. She raised up on her toes to allow it find a pathway along her vulva and she made tiny high pitched sounds as it made its way along.
“Fuck me,” she said, as she tried to suck his face into her mouth.
“Let’s get in bed,” he whispered.
They dried off slightly and fell together into the bed, soon joined with a shared groan of pleasure and coupling. It was a coupling of need and desire, his penis reaching new depths inside her, she whispered unintelligible words as they egged each other on to higher highs, culminating in an earth shattering denouement for her, manifested in severe tremors shooting through her body and her vaginal muscles holding him prisoner as they clamped around his penis until she had calmed.
He sensed the return of movement inside her and began thrusting slowly inside her. His tempo remained constant until he felt his need soar. She gripped his collarbone with her teeth as his thrusts became deeper and stronger. She held on for dear life as she felt him raise her knees to allow greater penetration, her body screaming silently for further release.
“I’m gonna come, Colleen.”
“Fuck me.”
“I’m coming.”
“I am too. Let it go.”
A shared climactic experience brought them closer together than either had ever been with anyone previously. Her release of a torrent of fluid mixed with his voluminous release of semen resulted in a maelstrom of body shudders and tremors, the air alive with screams, moans and, eventually, a low keening from her. He rolled off her and she immediately clung to him. They kissed and she looked at him through tear-stained eyes,
“I have never …” she closed her eyes and drifted off to dream.
The sounds of her dressing woke him.
“Hi, Colleen, everything ok?”
She stopped and looked at him through the darkness of the room, illuminated only by the green numerals on the bedside clock.
“I have to get home. It’s almost 2:00.”
“Do you want me to walk you some of the way?”
“Thank you. No. I’ll be fine.”
She touched his face. He kissed her.
“You’ve ruined me for any other man. I don’t even know your name.”
“My friends call me, JJ.”
“Forgive me, JJ. How long will you be in town?”
“Until I get a phone call.”
“Come for lunch tomorrow.”
“If I can.”
They kissed again, she finished dressing and left with a wave. He turned over and fell into a deep, contented sleep.
Next morning he tidied up as best he could, showered, dressed and took a walk uptown. The street was busy with workday traffic as he searched out for breakfast. He spotted a place called Cora’s, went inside and sat down.
In Moncton, he imagined, Cora’s would be a desirable destination, unfortunately, it ranked with the worst container coffee places in Ireland, in his estimation. However, he was ravenous following the previous night’s activity so he ordered buttermilk pancakes, poached eggs and fresh fruit with a pot of fresh coffee.
Fortunately, the food was a lot better than the surroundings it was served in and he demolished the lot in rapid fashion. He paid cash and walked back to the hotel. He checked his Tudor, 9:50. A good time. His intelligence was that Orville arrived at the office in the Avenir at 10:15 every morning and left about noon. He was at the corner outside the hotel at 10:05, ostensibly a hotel guest out for a smoke. Orville parked his silver Mercedes S Class outside, in the space reserved with his name, at precisely 10.15. Andy would be there to follow him at a little before noon. In case of misadventure he idled slowly past the car and surreptitiously placed a magnetic tracker under the front left wheel arch. Better safe than sorry.
He returned to the hotel, a 10k run on his mind. He picked up a map in reception, nodded at the receptionist on his way past and took the lift to his room. He was almost finished changing for his run when he noticed the message indicator flashing on the phone. He picked it up and collected the message. It was Colleen,
“Hi JJ, Colleen here. Thank you for last night. I’ll be here until 11:00 if you can call the bar. I have some errands to run but will be free from 6:00 if you’d like to get together. Let me know.”
He went through the pros and cons. It might be a pleasurable distraction, then again, she has a husband. She’s great in the sack, but then again, most of them are. Great body, most of them have, relatively speaking. She seems keen, but is coming across as clingy. Best leave sleeping dogs lie for now.
He ran in the opposite direction this time, taking a route down to Vaughan Harvey, turning right up to Mountain Road and back down to complete an 11k route at the hotel. He arrived back at 11:40 after a vigorous run, took a quick shower and dressed quickly, jumped in the car and parked outside the hotel in full view of Orville’s Mercedes at five minutes past noon. He felt good. Five minutes later, Orville waddled over to the driver’s side and sedately pulled away from the kerb.
Andy gave him a thirty second head start before moving off in pursuit. He was directly behind his quarry and slowed a little to allow two vehicles occupy the space between them. Thirty minutes later, he pulled into the Irving Salisbury Big Stop, parked his car at a fuel pump and went inside. Andy parked on the other side of the pump and took the opportunity to fill up. He needed only a quarter tank and was finished well before Orville’s employee. He went inside and paid for his fuel. Looking around at what was on offer, he didn’t see Orville initially until he walked out of the restaurant carrying a bag of, what he assumed was, food. He was also wolfing down a burger as he walked. Andy followed him out to his car, climbed inside and followed Orville at a respectable distance again.
He drove from the Big Stop across the highway into Salisbury, and on for a further ten minutes to Homestead Road where he turned right and through a pair of electric gates that Andy knew to be his home.
Andy drove back to his hotel and focused on formulating a plan of action. First on his list was food and sleep. He stopped at a Sobeys supermarket just off Vaughan Harvey Boulevard to see if he could find something of use. The best he could find was a cooked rotisserie chicken. It looked appealing. A deli assistant came to enquire if he needed help.
“Yes, thanks. When were these cooked?”
“They’re just out of the oven, sir.”
“Thanks, do you sell separate portions of the chicken?”
“Yes, but they’re more expensive.”
“Can you portion this one up? I’ll take the whole thing.”
“Yes, I can do that for you.”
“Thanks.”
He brought the chicken back to his hotel room, kept one half, wrapped the rest in its wrapper and placed it in the fridge in his room. He made tea from the hotel supplied provisions and snacked in his room until his hunger was abated. He switched the tv on and napped until 17:00. His disorientation was less as he crossed the road to walk the other side of Main Street. At 18:00 he found himself outside The Windjammer restaurant but it looked a bit poncey, so he moved on. The Keg further down that side of the street was dark and smelled of burnt toast. The menu was rather anaemic so he moved on across the road to Catch 22. Thinking that these were the worst selection of city centre restaurants he had ever seen, he went inside because he was famished, and the menu didn’t focus on red meat.
The menu was limited and was too heavy with shellfish. They called it seafood, which, he felt, was a misnomer at best, but there was a haddock dish which quite appealed to him. So he assumed his seat at a table and ordered the haddock with grilled vegetables. It was enjoyable but he got more satisfaction from the Sobeys chicken. On the walk back to the hotel he had to pass the Auld Triangle but he walked on by. He tried the hotel bar to see what it offered, but, like the rest of the city, it was a dead, empty, dreary disappointment. He decided to move the schedule forward before he went insane.
At 20:00 he was in his car heading for Salisbury. In the few days he had been in the province, he hadn’t seen one policeman. He pushed the speed a little more and reached Orville’s house at 20.45. A quick reconnaissance of the exterior showed no visible electronic shield. Sparsely spaced trees offered easy access, it was almost too easy. He didn’t jump too soon, however and he returned to the car and parked it about a hundred metres away, in a blind spot between two groves of pine trees.
He was dressed all in form-fitting black. A balaclava rolled on top of his head, his face a mixture of three colours, randomly painted to camouflage recognition.
From the trunk of the car he pulled out a black steel firearm box. He opened it and took out his preferred Beretta M903 and an ATEC PMM-6 suppressor. He ejected a seventeen round magazine from the Beretta, turned it over quickly and checked the round load. He fitted the suppressor to the gun and held it loosely in his gloved hand.
Crouching low, he entered the compound via a break in the tree line. The trees were close to forty foot deep along the boundary of the property. He reached the inner boundary of the trees, pulled the balaclava down over his face and, still in a crouch, sprinted silently across the tarmac driveway.
The house was a large, rambling affair in two storeys with two single storey wings, one at each end. It was mostly in darkness, save for the light from two windows on the ground floor and one in the top floor. Andy quietly crept to the window nearest him and peered into a kitchen. There was a tv playing on a wall beside the fridge and an elderly woman was sitting at a dining table sipping from a white mug with the Irving logo on it.
He moved on. The second window was the furthest away from the kitchen window so he moved like a cat along the edge of the drive, staying in the shadows at the base of the house walls. He reached the second window and peered into what looked like a study or library. Orville was watching a tv too. Andy scratched the glass of the window. Orville heard it. He came to the window and peered outside. Seeing nothing of interest, he returned to his seat. When he sat down he was suddenly looking into the barrel of Andy’s Beretta.
Orville was scared to death. His life of luxury hadn’t prepared him for a confrontation such as this. His sense of self preservation impelled him to try a remedial action. He moved suddenly to try and grab a fire iron to his left. Andy was primed for something like this so he hit him with one inch punch to the temple, leaving Orville sitting back in his chair, his tongue lolling from his mouth, saliva dribbling from his chin.
He tried to reason with the intruder.
“What do you want? You’ll never get away with this?”
Andy held the Beretta level with Orville’s left eye.
“Do you want money? I have money? It’s in the safe behind that portrait behind you.”
Andy thought about it. He waved the gun at the portrait and Orville opened the safe. He took out a pile of cash bundles and placed them on his desk.
“There’s $150,000 in that pile. That’s all I can get my hands on.”
Andy spoke for the first time. He kept his teeth together as he whispered to him,
“Put it in a bag.”
Orville opened a loose hold-all, placed the cash inside and drew the drawstring tight. Andy picked it up. He loaded a round from the magazine into the gun. Orville soiled himself. Andy reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, which he laid flat on the desk in front of the computer.
“You will transfer $50 million to the account number and bank written on that piece of paper.”
“I don’t have the authority for that.”
“You have thirty seconds. After that it’ll be $100 million.”
Orville tried to argue.
“If you look closely, you’ll find that the bank is the same bank in the Cayman Islands that holds your offshore accounts. I’m happy with the $150k and I’ll happily put a bullet right through your self serving little pig eye. Ten seconds.”
“Ok. Ok, I’ll send the $50 million.”
“It’s $150 million now.”
“That’s preposterous! Where are you getting these numbers from?”
“Send it first, then I’ll tell you.”
He tapped the keys and transferred the money. He then turned the laptop around and showed Andy that he had complied. Andy checked everything and saw that he had done so.
“You want to know why?”
“Yes.”
“You know of a guy called Andy Lynch?”
“The guy that owns the entertainment venue outside Saint John?”
“Yes.”
“You fucked with him. Cost him a fucking fortune. You couldn’t let someone do business in your town, so instead of engaging in healthy competition you decided to fuck him until he bled.”
“I’m sorry, but it wasn’t just me.”
“Yes, but you’re the biggest dick.”
“And who are you in all this?”
Andy pulled his balaclava up.
“I’m Andy Lynch. You’ve seen my face so now you’re a dead man.”
Orville went grey in the face.
“Andy no. It wasn’t me. I only facilitated Don Meenahan. He wanted you out of the way because your venue was a serious threat to him.”
“Don Meenahan? The campground guy?”
“Yes.”
"We're not even in the same business?"
"He's starting a music venue with a partner in Sussex."
“Ok. I need to pay him a visit too. Write his address on the back of that piece of paper there.”
He complied.
“Thank you,” he said, “we’ll keep this misunderstanding between us.”
He smiled just before Andy pulled the trigger and the left side of Orville’s face exploded in a mist of blood, bone and brain.
Andy pulled the balaclava back down, took the computer and the cash, exited the building, retrieved his tracker from Orville’s car, sprinted back to his own car and drove sedately back to the hotel. On the way he stopped at a bridge crossing the Petitcodiac River and washed the face paint off using the balaclava and a bottle of water. Back in the hotel, he stripped, showered and dressed in suitable clothes. The clothes he used for the hit were placed into a blue plastic bin liner which he hid under the driver’s seat of the car.
He checked the time, 22:10. He walked to the Auld Triangle and ordered a Teelings Single Malt and sat at the bar to drink it. He ordered another and brought it to a booth in the corner. He was surprised when Colleen came in. She came over and sat beside him.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi yourself.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, did you not get my message?”
“I got it late. I was down in Sackville until mid afternoon.”
“Did you eat?”
“Yes, I went to Catch 22 with a client.”
“So you weren’t dodging me?”
“Hardly, Colleen. How could I? You look very nice tonight, by the way.”
“Thanks. I was kinda hoping you’d come in.”
“I just came in for a couple of ‘small ones’. To celebrate a sale.”
“Do you leave town tomorrow?”
“Yes, back to reality, I’m afraid.”
“Want some company tonight?”
“All night?”
“Possibly.”
“Husband?”
“In Saint John tonight. We have shares in a pub up there.”
“I’d love some company, Colleen.”
“We close at 11:00, can you wait?”
“I’ll try your Guinness.”
At 23:20 they entered his hotel room. He appraised her as she shed her jacket to reveal a green and red striped summer dress.
“Can you unzip me?”
He unzipped her and pulled the dress from her body. She wore a white lace bra and matching panties. She pulled his polo shirt over his head as he slipped out of his chinos and boxers. He slipped his hands inside her panties and slid them down, she stepped out of them as she removed her bra.
“It was so rushed last night, Colleen. I didn’t appreciate just how beautiful you are,” he said, and kissed her.
She kissed him back, opening his lips with hers and letting her tongue meet his. The motion of the kiss was slow and easy, speeding up as it wore on. His erection nestled between her legs and she ground her hips against his, seeking stimulation from his penis.
He pushed her back on the bed and feasted on her breasts and nipples as she writhed excitedly beneath him. He knelt down in front of her and spread her legs as his tongue found the lips of her labia. His tongue dipped inside her vagina quickly and then continued to lick the inside of her labia as he inserted a finger inside her in search of a different texture. When he found it she took off and filled his mouth with her fluid. She screamed in ecstasy as he stood and inserted his penis inside her.
“Oh. Please. Please.”
She wailed as he thrust his penis inside her. When he found the limit of his depth she sighed with pleasure and wonder.
“Nobody has ever been that deep, JJ, it’s amazing. Fuck me please.”
Her second orgasm hit after about six more thrusts. He slipped out of her and lay on his back.
“I want to taste you properly, Colleen.”
“You didn’t come yet”
“Where would you like me to come?”
“I need you inside me.”
He touched her face as he turned her on her back. She led him to her entrance and her eyes rolled back in her head as he entered her in one sharp thrust.
“Oh my God!” Colleen moaned.
He stayed still. Her hips actively moved against him. He took one of her nipples in his mouth as she purred beneath him. Her breath was coming in ragged rhythm as he felt her vagina grip him, pulsing, akin to masturbation. He moved against her, withdrawing a couple of inches and easing back into her again,
“Fuck me, JJ!”
He withdrew to the tip of his penis and rammed home again. She held on to him through several forceful thrusts before he felt her orgasm rip through her as she screamed. His own need rose as his climax arrived. She squirmed in his arms as he tried to contain her, his penis pistoning forcefully inside her in search of finality. A forceful release of semen took them both by surprise, taking them to new heights, locking them together, fully connected as they rode the trembling of their bodies beyond their tolerance into a new state of rapture and accompanied by two further eruptions from within her. Their hearts were pumping wildly, both bathed in sweat as they returned to normal, still locked together. She finally released him.
“Thank you, JJ. I finally feel alive.”
They kissed and fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Next morning he woke early and watched her sleep. She was a beautiful, passionate woman. Her hair was an abstractly ordered tangle. He let her sleep and went for a shower. When he came out she was sitting up in bed. The tv was on. She looked in shock.
“JJ, Orville Irving was murdered last night.”
“Who?”
“Oh you probably wouldn’t know him. He’s the boss of Irving Oil.”
“Oh, right. What happened to him?”
“He was shot in the head during a break-in at his house.”
He sat on the bed beside her, feigning interest. “He must have pissed someone off.”
“Yes, everyone in New Brunswick. The Irving’s are fucking leeches.”
“They must have very small dicks or very big leeches.”
“Yours isn’t small.”
He pushed her back on the bed.
“Once it’s big enough for you, Colleen.”
He went to kiss her vagina.
“Let me clean that up before you do that, JJ.”
“I will if I can come in your mouth first.”
“Oh fuck. Yes.”
An hour later they were back in the shower together.
“I didn’t think I could come so much in the morning.”
“You’re a fantastic lady, Colleen. Possibly the best I’ve ever been with.”
“Possibly?”
“There was a woman in Manchester once. But she was English. She did this thing with her tongue and lips on my balls. It’s a fond memory.”
“You mean like this?”
“Oh fuck, Colleen. Yes.”
Checkout time was 11:00 and she left him at 10:00 with an unconfirmed date for the following evening, if they were both available, and a deep, tongue filled kiss. He immediately started to tidy the room. When he was happy, he checked out.
He drove out to Berry Mills Road, to a sanitation depot he’d been scoping out on his travels around the city. It had never been occupied any time he had passed by. He parked on a service road behind the property, jumped the six foot wire fence and deposited the detritus of the hit in a half full dumpster along with Orville’s empty drawstring bag. He packed the bundles of cash into a false bottom under the clothes in his bag and set off for the cottage after a stop in Sussex for provisions. He mulled over the pros and cons of dealing with Meenahan. There was nothing to be gained by killing him except revenge. He wouldn’t suffer too much that way. He’d need to do some research.
He drove back to the cottage, emptied and vacuumed the car, lit a fire in an old oil drum and burned all signs of Jamie Jones and his visit to Moncton. He retrieved a satellite phone and an air gapped laptop from his storage case. He flipped the phone open and hit a number.
A female voice answered, “A.”
“Yes.”
“ID?”
“7876L.”
He heard an audible beeping.
“Hi Andy, we’re secure.”
“Thanks. I’m gonna send you a text for background. Can you text it by email to this phone please?”
“Yes. Your laptop isn’t secure.”
“I know. Any noise?”
“Not a bit. It’s being handled as a B and E.”
“Good.”
“Did you really have to blow his face away?”
“Yes, he saw my face. Everything ok funds wise?”
“All good.”
“I’ll text this now and go silent. I’ll check it every two hours. I need everything.”
“It’s done. Talk soon.”
“Out.”
He cooked some eggs and smoked salmon, ate them with two mugs of tea at the dining table in the camp and took a drive to Don Meenahan’s campground, just outside Sussex. It was, in no way, secure. Don was a collaborator with Jim Gallant, the owner of the Donkey bar and Grill in the centre of Sussex, in the production of an annual music festival in the town. They obviously saw Andy’s venue as a competitor, in their feeble little parochial minds, and had made attempts to undermine his business in the past. He ignored them and that was a mistake, given what Orville had told him. He would rectify that mistake.
Andy drove through the town and noticed, ‘Roselea’, an older house on George Street that was a bed and breakfast, with a ‘VACANCIES’ sign outside. The germ of a plan fluttered to life in his brain and he memorised the phone number at the bottom of the sign. He checked his satellite phone and the email icon was lit. He took a drive around the perimeter of The Donkey and headed back to base.
The email contained lots of information on Don and Jim. Jim was the more dangerous of the two. His bar had a bit of a reputation for rowdiness and drug use. Don was an opportunist, a failed politician out of Montreal who bought a campground in New Brunswick, with no real thought of what to do once they handed him the keys.
He needed to look like he fitted in so he donned a baseball cap, the standard uniform for men and women in the province, and pulled it low over his eyes. Not having ever met them, he spent some time studying the pictures of Don and Jim as his plan took shape and began to live. He didn’t wish to be in the place for an extended period so he decided to begin his field work immediately. He called the number for Roselea on his satellite phone. A woman’s voice answered.
“Hi, my name is Lloyd Armstrong. I’ve been given a last minute job for two days in Sussex and my enquiry is to see if you’d have any vacancies on your B and B for a one person, two night stay.”
“Thank you, Mr. Armstrong. Yes we have a couple of rooms available. You’re lucky that the season is over with the schools back open again.”
“Oh that is good news. Would it be possible to check in tonight?
“Yes, I suppose so. What time do you think you’ll arrive?”
“I’m in Saint John now, so an hour or so?”
“Perfect. It’s getting dark now, will you be able to find us? We’re on George Street, Sussex.”
“I’ll find you.”
“Thank you Mr. Armstrong, I’m, Maisie. We’ll see you in about an hour.”
Andy assembled the papers for Lloyd Armstrong and checked everything to make sure it was in good shape. Lloyd was an infantryman in the Scottish Guards and died in a IRA pub bombing in Newry, Northern Ireland.
Andy had a British passport, credit and debit cards, library card, Tesco Clubcard and driving license in Lloyd's name. He’d use these for this phase of the mission and then consign him to his plot in Southern Cemetery, Manchester. He added three sets of clothes and shoes along with $50,000 of Orville’s cash, the Beretta with three spare magazines and a full case of C4 blocks, timers and detonators.
He pulled on his baseball cap and drove into the car park of The Donkey just as it got dark. Inside it was about half full and he attracted the looks of the greater percentage of those present. They were a filthy looking bunch of people and Andy was happy that he blended in his plaid shirt, oversize jeans and baseball cap. Jim was behind the bar.
“What can I get you, buddy?” he asked.
“Coors Lite.”
He placed an opened can on the bar.
“Seven bucks, buddy.”
“Draught please.”
“You shoulda said, buddy. It’s opened now.”
“Ok. You can drink it. I’ll sit over here and you can bring me my beer.”
He walked to a dark corner of the bar and sat down. Jim followed him.
“We don’t wait tables, buddy.”
Andy bade him sit down. He did. Andy grabbed his left nipple and squeezed hard. Jim went pale.
“I hope you realise that if I twist this more than halfway, it’ll break off. It’s painful, you’ll be disfigured for life and there are over a thousand blood vessels around it which will burst all over your nice new shirt, this table and the floor. I hope you also realise that I am not your buddy, so quit calling me that.”
Jim’s face was twisted in pain as Andy let go of his nipple. He returned to the bar and got Andy’s beer, placed it on the table and said,
“It’s on me.”
“Thank you,” Andy said sweetly.
As he sipped his beer, he took stock of the clientele. One individual in particular was distributing plastic bags of a white substance to random people that came in and handed him money. He waited until the chap visited the restroom and followed him in. At the urinal, Andy looked at the guy.
“What have you got?”
The guy smirked.
“Nothing for you, buddy.” he laughed and made to leave.
Andy hit him with a one inch punch to a point three inches above his heart. The guy reeled backwards and began to puke.
“What the fuck, man?”
“I asked you a question.”
“I have Coke and H.”
“How much have you?”
“A quarter kilo total. Half and half.”
“I’ll take the coke.”
“It’s three grand.”
Andy took five grand out, peeled off two and held the rest up to the guys face.
“I’ll take it all.”
The guy smiled, took the cash and pulled a brown paper bag out of his inside pocket. He handed it to Andy, took the cash and made to leave. Andy stopped him.
“I want to see it.”
The guy took a plastic bag out and waived it in Andy’s face.
“Open it.”
He opened it. Andy pulled his gloves on, sprinkled some on his finger and tasted it.
“It’s only 80% pure. Not worth $3k.”
“Fuck you!”
Andy hit him again, this time a lot harder. The guy swivelled on his feet, stunned.
“Next time I hit you, you will die.”
“Ok, what's it worth to you?”
“Five ton.”
“Gimme seven.”
Andy waited for him to return the excess money, took the bag and the guy left. He brought the bag into the toilet and placed it inside the lid of the white ceramic cistern. Using heavy duty explosive tape, he fixed it in place and returned the lid to the cistern. He left the pub and got into his car. He dialled the number for the local drugs task force and reported the cache. He sat back and waited. It wasn’t long.
Inside ten minutes a dozen police cars swung into the car park, their sirens screaming and lights flashing. A battalion of uniforms stormed the bar and five minutes later, two uniformed cops pulled Jim and the dealer out in handcuffs, closely followed by two more carrying the drugs that Andy had placed in the cistern lid.
“That should keep you on ice for ten years, buddy,” he thought to himself.
He returned to Roselea. Logged his laptop in to the satellite phone signal and began looking for Mr. Meenahan. His first stop was Facebook. Don loved himself, he was all over it. He found his personal page. Don was married for the second time. He had two kids of his own and hide wife had two also. They didn’t appear to have any together.
Andy was interested in his daughter, who was a little darling. He found her page. She was 32, separated and worked in the local Superstore. She enjoyed showing her tits off, and rightly so, they were beautiful. She wasn’t afraid of showing off her skimpy bikinis either. He wondered if that might be an angle. He checked his Tudor. 8:30. Superstore was still open. He jumped in his car and headed there. According to her Facebook she had just taken delivery of a brand new white Ford Ranger. It shone like a beacon as he drove into the yellow lit car park. He parked up beside it, slid out of the drivers seat and keyed the whole side of her truck. He also smashed the rear windscreen. He drove to the parking bay opposite and watched for her reaction.
When she came out she was smiling and happy, until she reached her truck. She screamed and broke down in tears as she surveyed the damage. Andy jogged over to her.
“What’s wrong?”
“My truck. Look at it.”
“Oh no! What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Call the police,” Andy said.
“I can’t. I’m disqualified.”
Andy knew that already.
“Fuck. It’s only a window and a bit of paint. It won’t take much to fix. Four or five hundred dollars at most.”
“I know, but I don’t have that kind of spare cash.”
“I can give it to you. No strings attached. I hate to see a young lady in distress.”
“That’s very nice of you. What’s your name?”
“I’m Lloyd. Lloyd Armstrong. What’s yours?”
“Kelly Meenahan.”
“Ok Kelly, don’t cry over this. Nobody died. I’m staying in the Roselea B and B, if you follow me down I’ll get you some money to fix it.”
“I couldn’t take it, Lloyd. How would I pay it back?”
“It’s not a loan, it’s a gift, Kelly.”
She laid her head on his shoulders and cried.
“You’re so nice, Lloyd, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Kelly. Now give me a smile and let me wipe those tears away.”
She followed him to the Roselea and he went inside. He returned with her money and she reluctantly accepted it. She got out of her truck and hugged him tightly.
“Thank you, Lloyd,” she said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Well if there was a pub here you could buy me a drink.”
“There’s The Donkey. We could go there.”
“I think that’s closed. The police raided it earlier, I heard.”
“Oh. Not before time. Why don’t you come to my house. It’s not far and I have a bar.”
“Sounds good, Kelly. Lead the way.”
He followed her for fifteen minutes. She was driving in the direction of Don’s property. He followed along behind and followed her to a gate adjacent to the gate into the campground. They drove through and parked outside a nice looking house that didn’t look all that old.
“This is nice, Kelly,” he said.
“Thanks. It’s only three years old. I got the land from my parents.”
They went inside.
“What’s your poison, Lloyd?”
“Oh, I’ll just have a glass of water, Kelly. I’m driving.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, thanks. I’m happy for the company, to be honest. Sit down and relax a bit, Kelly. You’ve had a shock.”
“I really need a shower. It’s a long day in work.”
“I’ll leave you alone, then, and let you do your thing. I just wanted to make sure you got home safely.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s times like this that you can hurt yourself inadvertently.”
“That’s very kind of you, Lloyd.”
“You go. Do your thing and I’ll head back.”
“Thanks for everything, Lloyd. You’re a knight in shining armour.”
He kissed her on the cheek and left. He pulled out of the gate and parked up on a side road about halfway down the driveway. Working quickly, he donned his balaclava, gathered everything from the back seat and crept through some trees into the campground. It was pitch dark save for some light emanating from the main house.
There were four vehicles parked in the drive. Lloyd guessed the one with the license plate marked, ‘I AM DON’, was his target. He crept over and, from a kneeling position, opened the driver's door. He moved the seat forward, his gloved hands helping with grip, and placed the Beretta, the bag of cash, the black round neck sweater he wore at Orville’s house and the three loaded magazines into the space under the seat. He also added a few packs of the C4 and three detonators to the pile. He returned the seat to its original position, silently pushed the door closed and retreated to his car. He picked up his satellite phone as he pulled out of the driveway and, when he was ten minutes away, called the police to report the haul in Don’s vehicle. Thirty minutes later he could see the flashing lights approaching from about a mile away, stuck his car in gear and drove away.
“Fuck you, Don,” he said to nobody, “get yourself out of that one.”
He arrived back at Roselea, threw his gloves in the trash on his way to the door, went to his room and jumped in the shower. He was idly flicking through the TV channels in the guest lounge when he heard a light knock on the window. It was Kelly. He went to the door and opened it.
“Hey, Kelly. Everything ok?”
“My Dad was arrested.”
“For what?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“There must be a simple explanation. Do you want to come in?”
He brought her to his room so they could talk in peace. He put his arms around her and she hugged him tightly.
“Can I stay with you tonight?”
“I’ll get you a room.”
“No. I want to stay with you. Just until it gets light.”
“Ok, you take the bed, I’ll sleep on the armchair.”
“Don’t you like me?”
“Yes, I like you, Kelly.”
She kissed him. Her big blue eyes searching for some signs. He slipped his arms around her and kissed her lips, testing her resolve with his tongue, teasing her tongue to engage. Slowly increasing the tempo of the kiss, expanding the motion of their lips. Stroking her face, just behind her ear. Hearing her sigh.
“More please, Lloyd,” she whispered.
He kissed under her chin, his tongue on her skin, along her throat. His fingers found the top button of her shirt. It opened easily. As did the remainder. He pulled it out of her jeans and slipped it from her body. She undid her jeans and slid them off. He undressed quickly. She was a beautiful woman.
She reached around and undid her bra. He pushed her gently onto the bed. Glorying in the feel of her magnificent breasts, he took one of her luscious pink nipples between his lips, she moaned with pleasure. Her lips sought his as he slid his hands under the waistband of her panties and eased them off her hips, she kicked them off the rest of the way. His fingers found her damp vagina and his lips joined them shortly after. She emitted a low whimper as his tongue entered her and her hips rose as she reached orgasm with a loud whimper.
“You’re beautiful, Kelly.”
“Thank you, Lloyd.”
“Are you ok? You’re very quiet.”
“I’m trying not to cry, Lloyd. That was beautiful.”
He kissed her again, her reserve melted away and her tongue became more engaged as she tried to almost take Lloyd’s mouth into hers. He pulled her knees apart and settled between them.
“I want to be inside you, Kelly.”
“Yes, Lloyd. Yes.”
She guided him in to her vagina. He was chastened by the beauty of the moment, her soft vagina a comforting home to his wayward penis. Her warmth a salve to his heart. They moved together like lovers of old, anticipating each move, reacting appropriately to each other. Two people totally in sync. Two bodies in perfect harmony.
“I’m gonna come, Lloyd,” she breathed.
“I’m with you, Kelly.”
“I’ll try not to scream.”
“Let it go. Where do you want me to come?”
“Inside please. I need you.”
A few gentle thrusts later and the dam broke, she bit into his shoulder, muffled screams softening the cold air of the room, involuntary tremors causing her body to shudder, her limbs, vicelike, pulling him closer, sharing herself with him. His own need overcame him and he erupted powerfully inside her as his climax coursed through him, pushing her towards higher arousal and need, extracting yet more vocal encouragement as another, gentler, climax washed over her as she released a warm fluid which bathed them both in a warm musky haze. He laid back and she snuggled into him.
He woke to the sound of the shower running and checked his Tudor. 5:10. He eased the door open. She was in the shower lathering her breasts, stomach and legs. Her long dark hair trapped in a plastic bag like container of some sort. She lifted her left arm and soaped under it, repeating the action with her other arm. She then lathered her vagina, sighing as she did so.
“Do you need help, Kelly?”
“A little help is always nice, Lloyd,” she smiled, as he stepped into the stall with her.
She kissed him as his hands held her to him.
“I have to be in work at 6:00 this morning, Lloyd. Can we get together later? My place this time.”
“If I get back in time, Kelly. I’ve to go to PEI this morning. It’s work.”
“Fingers crossed.”
He kissed her and stepped out of the stall. He climbed under the covers and watched her as she dried herself off and dressed. She smiled self consciously.
“You are beautiful, Kelly.”
She smiled again.
“Thank you.”
She kissed him one more time.
“Later, Lloyd.”
When she left he jumped from the bed, showered, shaved and dressed quickly. He packed everything away and went to the dining room for breakfast. He had coffee and toast, checked out and drove to the camp.
He quickly put everything back together, reset the security system and began the two hour long drive to the US border at Houlton, Maine.
Before he headed off, he drove to the Superstore lot in Sussex and parked beside Kelly’s truck. She had fixed a piece of hard cardboard in the gap left by the broken window. Andy picked the lock of the storage bin in the bed of the truck and deposited $100,000 of Orville’s money inside it with a note.
He patted the side of the truck, turned north and began the trip to Houlton. A couple of hours later he exited the Trans Canada Highway at Woodlawn Road and drove for four miles. He found what he was searching for, covered by a camouflage tarpaulin, in a copse close to the border. He uncovered the 2016 Harley Davidson Street, primed it and kicked it into life. He pushed it out on to the road and drove the car into the copse, doused it with gas and set it alight. He drove the Harley to the border and crossed into the USA via the Foxcroft Road and arrived in Houlton an hour later. He had disposed of Lloyd’s ID and persona in the car fire and now stood in an Avis Rentals office as Ethan Williams, the identity he arrived in the country with. He hired a car and drove to New York, returned the car to Newark Airport and boarded his homeward flight to Dublin at 21:30.
He was lying in his own bed in Ireland the next afternoon, his laptop was open and he was reading reports about the murder of Orville Irving by a local campground owner, sipping his own tea and munching on a slice of toast dripping with Kerrygold butter. His cellphone rang. The display said rerouted number.
“Hello?”
A female voice said,
“Hello? I think I’m looking for Lloyd.”
“He’s not here, Kelly.”
“I got a note to call this number.”
“Yes, I left you that.”
“Did you also leave a bag?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Lloyd asked me to tell you that he loves you. He wanted to leave you a bit more comfortable financially. If you ever need anything or get in a difficult spot, just call this number.”
“You’re Lloyd, aren’t you?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“I love you too. I’d like to see you again.”
“I’ll have him call you in a few weeks, he’s working abroad right now.”
“Thank you, Lloyd. Please make it soon.”
He disconnected the call. Thought for a brief minute and decided.
THE END
