STARSHINE, THE OCEAN AND THE UNICORN
                                                       Chapter One.   Part two




                     That night Joe walked through Soho, hands in pockets and head bowed against the cold that hung in the fog and the dark.  He turned into an alley and followed the echoes of his footsteps, listening to the hollow sound that rang from his body.  As he came to the end of the alley he knew that he did not want to die, ever.  He did not know where the thought came from, so he removed it from his mind and in its place stepped fear.  He moved on quickly, blinded by the fog and watched by the dark.  Panic started rising as he felt a gr eater need than usual to be sheltered, to be safe.  It was too quiet, it was deserted.  He wanted to lose himself in crowds and noise.
                      Headlamps turned into the street and shone a pathway through the fog. The vehicle crept forward in low gear, staying just behind Joe.  He heard the slow crunch of tyres over loose gravel. He saw the wheel hub from the corner of his eye as the car drew alongside him, its tyres scraping the kerb.  Joe's heart stopped.  Car doors flew open.  His attackers brought him to the ground and held him fast.  Joe closed his eyes as if his death would not come if he could not witness it.  A winding blow to his guts and his eyes snapped open again to see the glint of metal knuckles on black leather as the gloved hand withdrew.  Jason Donaldson crouched down, his heavy, ugly face in front of Joe's.  He held a cigar dangerously close to Joe's left eye.  Joe could not move away from it, someone had him in a strangle hold from behind.  He waited for the terrible pain.
                     "You've annoyed these two gentlemen." Jason said, indicating with two slight nods of his head the man behind Joe and another who stepped forward so that Joe could see his grim, oriental face looking down over Jason's shoulder.  He held the black briefcase in one hand and the Duty Free carrier bag in the other.  Joe knew what was coming.  It was bad.  It was not good to annoy Jason Donaldson.  It was not good to annoy the chinamen.  These things always ended with the end.
                    Jason stood up, six foot seven, his tailored coat stretched over his massive shoulders and his hat perched on top of his fat head.  Joe was afforded slight relief as the intense heat of the cigar left the vicinity of his eyeball.  Jason took the briefcase from the chinaman.  The metal clips broke as he jarred it open.  He held it upside down over Joe and let the brightly coloured monopoly notes fall so that they swirled and landed over and around him.  Jason threw the case down.  Then he took the carrier bag from the chinaman and again he held it upside down, high over Joe's head. Sand fell over Joe's head and shoulders and some found its way down he back of his shirt.  His mind's eye again glimpsed the grey trousered leg, the tan shoe and green gabardine.  The bastard had got at the carrier bag as well.  Jason looked down at him,
                                                                "Silly money, silly gear, silly Joe!" He paused. "Where is it? And what about our nice Mr. courier?"
                     Joe knew that the truth would sound hollow and it did.  "Nice Mr. courier fell off his bar stool.  I don't know anything about the silly money or the silly gear."
                      "Try again Joe.  You're mits have been in this case." Jason kicked the broken case at Joe.  Joe looked into Jason's eyes, they seared and Jason knew it was pointless.  He had always relied on his cheek in life, and his reaction to death was just the same.  "Yeah, that was twelve hours ago.  What kept ya?"
                    "We figured we could wait twelve hours for you if you could wait twelve hours for us.  And you did."
                    Joe wished he had trusted those nagging instincts when he had bent the case clips and used those twelve hours to get clear.  But he kept his eyes bold and square on Jason's face.  "Thanks! What is it that I'm waiting for?"  Now it was here he wanted it over quickly.
                    Jason drew on his cigar "My friends here have a proposition to make to you"  Joe's breath shallowed as he listened for a promise of life.  Jason continued, "Was that the first man you killed?"
                    Joe said nothing.  The question astounded him.  But Jason took his silence, or at least pretended to take his silence as an answer, the wrong answer.  "You're useful Joe."
                    "What!  A hit man?"  Joe tried to laugh but the strangle hold tightened.  Joe's laughter turned to panic and he protested  "I'm a petty thief.  I'm small time.  I don't kill.  I never killed that bloke.  I'd be well out of town if I had."
                    "Maybe.  Maybe not." said Jason.  "Maybe staying in town is a ploy to prove your innocence."  As if innocence mattered in Soho's underworld.  Joe could see that Jason knew he was telling the truth but that somehow truth was beside the point.  Jason's smile was evil.  He continued  "We're not interested in a guilty party.  We're interested in a fall guy.  You were put in charge of a great deal of money to be exchanged for a great deal of heroin.  You lost us both.  You owe us.  You will work for us to pay off your debt.  You will take the highest paid job we offer, that way your debt will be paid quickly.  At an assassin's going rate you owe us six jobs. Lucky for you it wasn't a bigger haul.  One a week Joe.  You kill one a week for the next six weeks.  I'll tell you who, when and where.  That'll pay the cost of your little slip and after that we'll make no more demands on you."
                    The chinaman behind Joe released his choke lock.  Jason went on "If at the end of any one of the next six weeks there has been no killing, then it'll be you who'll die.  Don't bother running from us.  We'll always find you."