Chpater 4

Mitch chews at a thumbnail. “Do you like it?”

I turn; around and around; taking it in. “It’s… amazing, Mitch. I know you said you can paint, but I didn’t expect this. You have a real talent.”

Charlotte’s mother volunteered to paint and decorate the new creche facility in the hotel. And the result is… ‘Fantastic’ doesn’t do it justice.

At floor level, grass and flowers frame the walls; cartoon cows and sheep and horses skipping and dancing through a meadow. To one side, bulrushes and lily-pads home dragonflies, ducks and smiling frogs; all in brilliant and unlikely hues. The Amazon rain forest may have seen frogs in those colours, but certainly nowhere around here has.

Above the grass, the walls gradient from a pale pastel to the brilliant blue vault of the ceiling, the sun nesting into one corner. Golden rays finger their way through sapphire sky and white fluffy clouds. Birds swoop across the ceiling or perch on a tree towering over the lilies. Butterflies flit across the walls.

Thick green rubber matting covers the floor and boxes of toys and games are stacked into shelves, teddies and pink rabbits side-by-side with building blocks and fat wax crayons.

It is a small child’s paradise.

“Mitch, it’s fabulous. I can only say thank you.”

The thumbnail is released, much reduced and a bit ragged. “You like it then?”

“Very much. Will you do some more for me? I’m thinking of the spa areas.”

“Definitely, but… I was hoping you would let me decorate the nursery for the baby.” She frowns. “Have you decided on a name yet?”

“James calls the baby ‘Peanut’. And until we know the baby’s sex, I imagine that’s as far as it will go.”

“So… can I paint the nursery?”

“For myself, I’d love you to. But… this time, you’d better ask James. Let him take a look at this.”

*****

James – Twelve Weeks

Wow!

What a great job.

Mitch’s work on the creche is seriously good. No-one would think she wasn’t a professional.

“I based it on the room I used as Jenny’s nursery when… When she was a baby… Before…” Mitch’s voice catches.

I lay a hand on her arm. “You have her back now. And she’s not going anywhere.”

“I know. It’s just, sometimes, when I think how I lost her…”

Her voice breaks again…

Spiralling out of control…

Change the subject…

“You have an amazing talent, Mitch. You could easily make a living as an interior decorator.”

She shrinks in on herself… “Oh, I don't think so…”

Too many years of being told she has no worth?

“…Think how much time this takes. I'd have to charge the earth to make it pay.”

“Alright, so you have something to sell where you can charge the earth.” She looks askance at me, frankly unbelieving.

“Mitch, remember who your family members are. Richard and Beth move in the kind of circles where they would love something like this. ‘Paying the Earth’ for it would simply give them bragging value.”

Her brow wrinkles, but behind her eyes, wheels are turning. “You think so?”

“I'm sure so. Take some photos of your work. Get yourself a website and you'd be good to go.”

She huffs. “James, I don't know anything about the internet. I certainly don’t know how to go about setting up a website.”

I lay a hand on her arm. “No, but I do. If you want to do this, I'll get you set up with a site and show how you can do more as you're ready. And I am quite sure Charlotte would be only too pleased to help.”

Her eyes flash to mine, then around the room. “You really think it’s saleable? That I could make a living doing this?”

I fold my arms. Nod. “Yes.”

She paces the room, knuckles pressed to her mouth. Then, “Do you have a camera I could borrow?”

“Only my phone, but that's not a problem. I'll ask Richard to get Marketing to send a photographer across. This will advertise you and your services. It advertises the spa and the hotel. And since, if they decide to visit, they’d at least buy a lunch in the restaurant, it even pays for itself.”

“I’d… I’d not thought of it like that.”

“Well, do. Get into that way of thinking. You have a skill, Mitch. If you learn to sell it, you’re in control of your own future. Once you’re earning in your own right, you’ll be dependent on no-one.

*****

Klempner - Thailand

The track’s a long one; a series of muddy ruts that decay to quagmire if I go any further. But it’s fine. We’re far enough off the main highway not to be heard.

Pulling over, I reach under the seat for the Glocks, shoving one into my belt, keeping the other in my hand. “Here’s our stop, gentlemen.”

Chaos in the rear…

“What’s going on?”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“So, we are.” I get out, then keeping them covered, unlock the rear doors. “Out you come.”

Strohmayer blusters. “What the fuck’s going on?” But he’s sweating as he looks down the barrel of my Glock, and he’s weaving on his feet.

“Delivering, as I promised, the experience of a lifetime, gentlemen. To be precise, the last experience of your lifetimes.”

It doesn’t take long. Two try to run. I take them down first. Trolley-man drops to his knees, pleading. I make it quick for him. A single round through the forehead; not even enough time to feel it.

Strohmayer seems in denial. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yup.” I aim for his stomach, giving him a few seconds to roll around the ground, screaming in on himself as I finish the final two then, muzzle pressed to Strohmayer’s temple, I say, “Don’t be too sad. You’re performing a valuable service to humanity today.

And I squeeze the trigger.

*****