At first, I didn’t realize he was talking to me. Until I noticed the intent look on his face.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard. That problem you mentioned on Facebook? We can take care of it for you.”
I turned to look at him. He was young. A head shorter than me. Blonde stubble barely broke through onto his chin. That was as much as I could see under the grey hoodie, except for his eyes. They were green. And they were nervous.
“Who the hell are you?”
He took a long drink from his jam jar. “I represent a party in the UK who can, you know, fix things. Make things happen. Without involving you directly.”
I looked into his eyes till he turned away.
“What’s this going to cost?”
Typical accountant question, I know. But that’s how I was trained.
He shrugged. “Nothing. It’s a favour. But then you’d owe us a favour in return. One hand washing the other.”
I was still struggling to understand the situation. “But how… who… how did you know where to find me?”
He looked up and smiled for the first time. “That’s the easy part. You checked in on Facebook when you got here.”
I stared at him till he looked away again. I was trying to recall whether I’d seen him before, in any of the other places I’d “checked in” recently. But nothing about him was especially noticeable. He would have been just another face hidden inside baggy clothes.
“Look. If you want us to pay him a visit, just post these words on Facebook. Just say “I’ve had a rough day” on your profile.”
“And then what?”
“Then you sit back and forget about it.”
“No. I mean, what happens then?”
He drained his drink and smiled again. “You were pretty graphic about what you wanted to happen. We’ll teach Garth a lesson, and your ex will be safe. This way saves you the cost of a plane ticket. And gives you an alibi. It’s untraceable. Don’t worry.”
Next in a series of emails sent to me by an old Valhalla drinking buddy. He couldn’t post them himself, for reasons that will become obvious over time. I’m publishing them here at his request, as I received them.
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