Another Chapter that took forever to write! I've never had my scribbler's block this bad before, it normally lasts for one chapter and then it starts flowing again but this has been going on for months now and I've fed up with it. On the plus side though, the second half of this chapter came quite easily and I'm a third of the way through 15. I think the music might be helping :-)

Thanks, Girls #YKWYA ;-)

Chapter 14

"Dempsey," Harry began tentatively.

He was sitting forward but angled so that he was facing her, cup in both hands.

"Uh huh?" He smiled with his eyes and reached out to flick an errant strand of hair away from her cheek.

"I want to ask you something."

"Go right ahead."

She was going to ask him to stay another night. Well that was fine, he was happy to let her persuade him by whatever means she felt necessary. He needed a change of clothes but that was okay – he could leave a half hour early tomorrow morning to swing by his place before work.

And he had another full days' worth of pills with him…

That thought shouldn't even be there but it was and whilst he hated to admit it, it had been at the forefront of his mind.

"I was wondering how much it would bother you if…"

Her tone of voice, the way she was sitting, that pensiveness all indicated that what she was going to ask would bother him very much.

"… I went looking for Jonathan."

"What, now?" he balked.

He was aware of his own body language, the way he had instantly sat back, withdrawing from the idea and closing her down before she'd barely got the words out.

"No, I don't mean tonight," she said hastily. "Tomorrow. I'd just like to put a few feelers out, track him down. Not necessarily to get him to come back here but just to know that he's aright and that he's getting himself sorted."

There was a brief pause whilst Dempsey decided how best to play it. Maybe it was totally selfish but as far as he was concerned, the guy was quite capable of fending for himself, whatever problems he had. He and Harry needed some time for themselves – they didn't need no third wheel lousing things up for them.

"You know, maybe you should just let him do his thing, babe. He was okay when he walked outta here this mornin' – way better than he was last night. Seemed like he'd got his head straight to me."

He watched her passive expression curl up into a frown of frustration.

"Oh, come on! Do you mean to say you wouldn't have wanted to do more if it'd been your friend? You wouldn't have wanted to put him up for a few nights, made sure he had somewhere to go? He left with nothing but the clothes he stood up in!"

"But he left like he did for a reason. He wasn't comfortable acceptin' help off of you."

It was a reasonable argument but Harry wasn't prepared to accept it.

"I could have persuaded him! I wanted to offer him a loan so that he could get himself set up with a rented flat somewhere… a permanent address."

Dempsey wasn't about to take this one any further and risk upsetting her, especially as he knew he was being a bastard. She was right, he'd have wanted to do something too if he were in her place. But if that friend in need should happen to be a girl, how would Harry handle that? She wouldn't feel a little of what Dempsey was feeling?

They'd only just started out yet they were already on shaky ground.

He stared into the black depths of his coffee cup, steeling himself to do the right thing.

"You first saw him outside of Covent Garden tube station, right? We could maybe have a mooch around there tomorrow, ask a few, drop a couple blue ones."

The 'we' was acknowledged with the lifting of gently grateful blue eyes and Dempsey knew denying her had never really been an option.

"I'm not expecting you to come with me, I just wanted to make sure it was alright with you. I appreciate the timing isn't exactly perfect."

"No, but I guess that ain't Jonnie's fault."

Even saying that out loud rankled but it was the truth. Course, if she wanted to bring him back here again, he seriously doubted he'd be able to act this cool about it. Hell, he'd happily throw a hundred at the guy himself if it meant keeping that spare room vacant.

He wondered if it was this fake, caring attitude that won him another night at Chez Makepeace. Not that he was wracked with guilt over it as he lay satiated and content in her bed, their early retirement meaning the early morning rise wasn't a problem although his morning glory most definitely was, resulting in a lightning departure without shower or sustenance.

Tom and Gerry. Lightweight comedians who lived up to their names, Robert had decided.

Still, they had served their purpose, done what they'd been paid to do. Now he was looking a little bit further up the food chain – or further down, depending on how you chose to view it.

He had dug the name out of the archives. The case went back over six years but Robert knew a leopard like Raymond Rhodes wouldn't change his spots. He would still be 'active' in some capacity, still in the business. At the time, Robert had been a junior solicitor within the law firm and hadn't had anything to do with defending Rhodes. He remembered the case well though as it had been quite high profile at the time and he had been given it as a live study case for part of his training in criminal law. Francis Callow, one of the senior partners at the time had been hailed as a magician when the not guilty verdict had been announced. Even the barrister who had been instructed to represent Rhodes in court had congratulated him on his incredible proficiency and fortitude in preparing the case.

Rhodes, of course, had been as guilty as sin, a fact which his defence team had been highly successful in deflecting.

It had taken Robert an entire morning to establish any sort of contact with him, the number given in his case file now obsolete. He thought it judicious to withhold his identity both to protect his own interests and prevent the smell of officialdom from getting up the noses of those who generally walked on the wrong side of the law. The nearest he got to tracking Rhodes down was a promise from the owner of a used car dealership to pass his number on. According to the records, Bryn Anderson Motors had supplied two vehicles to the defendant within a three month period during 1981, one of which, a blue Cortina had been integral to the investigation. This seemed to be his only hope, every other lead resulting in either a curt denial of any association or a panicky sort of apology that they weren't able to help. 'I haven't seen him in years', seemed to be the stock response. In fact, up until the Anderson Motors 'phone call, Robert had wondered if Rhodes had actually left London or even the country. He hadn't given his name, just asked that Anderson relay the message, 'I have some urgent business I would like Mr Rhodes to attend to'. He left his home number and specified after 6pm. He hoped his tone would convey authority and purpose, a hard man in command of his life and everything in it. The message was far more likely to be passed on if he came across as credible from the start.

Unable to concentrate for the rest of the day, Robert left the office early and was home by 5pm. At least at the flat there was nobody to wonder at his restlessness or hear the nervous whistling under his breath whilst he waited or rather hoped for the 'phone to ring.

To occupy himself, he made a chicken risotto for his supper and allowed himself one small glass of Chianti to accompany it. If the call ever came, he knew he would require a very clear head.

Eight o'clock dragged its' heavy minutes into nine and Big Ben mocked the hour in the corner of the living room when the News at Ten came on the television.

With his expectations sinking rapidly, the stress which had seemed to colour his day rolled over into fatigue. Funny thing was, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, there was too much racing around inside his head.

He tried to concentrate on the news, only realising when Findus attempted to lure him into purchasing their Crispy Pancakes that he was sitting on the very edge of his chair, fingers twisting together agitatedly.

He'd been stupid to expect Rhodes to get in touch. What were the chances that the message had even been relayed? He decided if he was to stand any chance at sleep, a second glass of that Chianti would be needed after all.

He went to the kitchen and got himself a refill, taking it to the chair by the window where he could look down on the street below whilst still keeping one eye on the second half of the television news.

Since arriving at home, the quiet, the solitude had seemed to highlight the enormity of this plan. Daylight hours had given a more normal and business-like slant to his intent where as now, alone in his thoughts and with the darkness pressing in around him, he began to doubt the validity of what he was doing. Was the end goal worth risking everything for? His brother, his ex-wife – did they really deserve to have their lives destroyed? Probably not. But the real question way, did he care enough about either of them to let that get in the way?

At 11pm, he went to bed feeling a bit calmer and unsure if it was more down to the notion of a cooling off period rather than the effects of the alcohol.

And at just after midnight when the telephone rang at his bedside, Robert reared up from his pillow as though a bullet had been fired.

Sweat broke out upon his forehead instantly, his heart bulging painfully against his ribcage.

"Yes," he said loud and flat into the receiver, his heart in his mouth.

There was a moment's silence during which Robert wondered if the blood pounding in his head was affecting his hearing.

"I gather you're looking for me."

There was an indistinct burr to his accent, a hint of something Scottish maybe. Deep and melodious, it was bizarrely pleasant, considering who he was.

"I'm speaking to Ray Rhodes?"

Robert was out of bed and on his feet, standing stock still in the limbo dark of the bedroom.

"I was told you want to do business."

Robert tried to inject some steel into his reply. "I do. There's somebody I want you to get rid of…"

Clearly this forthrightness was an error.

"I don't conduct business over the telephone," Rhodes talked over him, sounding annoyed. "I'll meet you in person and if you have an interesting enough proposal, there's a possibility we can broker a deal of some sort. Does that sound reasonable enough to you?"

Robert swallowed. "Yes. Yes, that would be fine. When?"

"Now."

"Sorry?" Robert checked, knowing he'd heard correctly but not quite believing Rhodes could mean it.

"Now. I assume you're serious about this…"

"Yes, of course," he stammered and cursed his sliding confidence.

"Meet me in Hyde Park. The Rose Gardens. You know where I mean?"

He sounded so serene – so cool.

"The Rose Gardens," Robert repeated, only vaguely aware of where the gardens were situated. "I'll find them."

"The south east corner near the war memorial. Go through the small metal gate and turn left after a hundred yards or so. The Huntress Fountain at 1:00am."

"I'll be there."

He had just over forty-five minutes to throw some clothes on, drive to Hyde Park and find some bloody fountain in the dark.

Robert's heart was hammering.