Chapter Four
Three weeks later Jim had learned more about Isla (in between corrupting governments, blowing things up and generally causing trouble), but still not as much as he would like. He knew all the boring stuff like her date of birth, address, and ethnicity. All the typical information he would need if he wanted to fill out one of those deathly boring government forms. Apart from the bit about her next of kin, which he found enormously irritating.
He knew that she worked in a grotty little café most of the week and still sung at that god awful bar. She lived in little flat in a shitty run down area, next door to druggies and tramps and she had a dog. A mongrel called Barney. He had found out she was looking for jobs in the theatre/music industry (the joy of being able to hack into any computer history).
He also knew rather more intimate details which she'd probably punch him for knowing, like the fact she sung a lot, and could belt out a song as good as most professionals (one time she did an opera piece and he almost fell off his chair . If she was happy she would sing jazz or blues, or put on some classical music and waltz around the house, giggling and dancing with her dog. Sometimes she would disappear with the dog for hours just walking around, other times she would curl up with it on the sofa and read. He observed that she didn't seem to have a social life and from what he could tell she liked it that way. She would spend hours sat on her bed, with her hair up glasses on strumming on a guitar, writing or sketching. He knew she hardly ate enough to feed a bird some days and he wanted to shake her and tell her to take better care of herself.
He knew when she was sad she would take a box from under her bed and look at the contents; sometimes he would catch a tear rolling down her cheek turning a razor over in her hands. These moments were normally followed it all being thrown across the room, a glass of alcohol and a cigarette. She always returned to pick it up, and it was in those times he wanted to go to her the most.
The laptop screen now showed she was wandering around in a towel, he sighed and closed it. He might be a borderline stalker but he wasn't a pervert. Pouring himself a glass of whisky he leant back in his chair contemplating what to do about his little problem. There was no denying it he was obsessed with the girl, he wanted to get close to her, but how on earth could he fit her into his chaotic lifestyle. Would she even want to be involved with him, and how could he get to her. She'd already shown she couldn't be impressed or bought.
Then it hit him, of course! He knew just how to reel her in, give her an opportunity she couldn't refuse. He picked up his phone he dialled the one person he knew who could get shit done.
"Sebastian, there's a music hall near White Chapel, makes the owners a very generous offer. If they refuse make life difficult, I can't see them objecting too much. I want it, make sure happens" to his credit if Seb wondered what they hell was going on he didn't show it.
"Sure thing boss, and then what?"
"Then call me, and I'll decide on the décor obviously" Jim had to suppress a smirk, he could just imagine the look on Seb's face.
"Ok, can I ask what this is in aide of?"
"I fancy branching out; perhaps I'll turn it into a theatre, or perhaps a burlesque bar. That's a nice little earner these days. Maybe I'll even go on stage" He hung up smirking to himself. The plan was perfect. Now all he had to do was put a boot up the arse of his staff and within a week he could put his plan in motion.