Chapter Five

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MONDAY


Chapter Five

8.25am. The interior of the golden mirrored lift doors revealed a clean-shaven slightly bemused Savage rubbing his chin. He missed the beard.

The ID badge the receptionist had given him had a photograph from three years earlier. It pictured someone alien to the reflection in the mottled glow. Younger, more naïve, no scars, a slight smile, pale skin.

A different person.

He'd arrived Friday afternoon and spent the weekend cocooned in room service, trash TV and the hotel gym, trying to ignore the bad dreams. As Friday was the holy day in Arab lands, his normal working week started on Saturday, a UK Monday felt like mid-week already.

But the time off had been useful, he'd avoided the culture shock of coming home to the west and steeled himself for why he was there.

Bankers.

He'd forgotten about their special lift. The golden glow for their golden boys and girls, the money makers and the market makers. It was always the little things you forgot.

His reflection mocked him. He'd been so used to it, every morning, one of the chosen, the elite. He resented it now. The bland arrogance and entitlement to meaningless things.

And then the day he left. The day that all changed.

He'd been running from himself ever since. The fear and hurt replaced, by what? Coldness? Strength? Uncertainty?

Gravity made it's presence known, the lift slowed. He readjusted the open cut-back collars of his crisp white shirt and checked his façade. You had to hand it to the Indian men in Arab lands, they knew how to tailor. He looked like he could kill and so did his suit.

It was a beard of another kind: the corporate uniform, the suit of armour, and he'd be damned if he couldn't make every other drone in the room just a little envious of the way he did it better than them.

His lack of tie would really piss them off.

The lift pinged and the doors opened. The face that greeted him, grunted once, and stepped in before he could step out.

'You're on time,' the man said with a look of contempt.

Savage took his time to respond.

'I'm always where I need to be. You know that.'

Two suits tried to get in and the man waved them away. 'Take the next one.'

He grunted again and pressed the button for the 40th floor.

The lift began its glide up, the man hit the disarm button and they juddered to a halt. He muscled into Savage's face. Nose to nose his breath spilled out, coffee and cigarettes flavoured with peppermint. He grinned like a bull about to have his way with his queer.

'And where were you three years ago Savage? Where you should've been?'

'Trevor Thomson,' Savage gave him the biggest shit-eating grin he could muster, 'nice to see you again. Confused the toilet brush with the tooth brush this morning did we?

Thomson slammed him against the mirrored wall and that's when the prodding started.

'I. Don't. Want. You. Here. Do you understand?'

'Loud and clear.' Savage smiled again. Resisting the urge to break Thomson's neck. 'Is this where I'm supposed to feel scared?

The loudspeaker burst to life. 'Security. What seems to be the problem?' the voice said. 'Please press the green button to respond.'

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