The man turned up on time, a middle-aged businessman nobody in the restaurant would look at twice. I motioned him to sit down and sat there quietly, seeing how he would react.

    "I heard you were a man who could organise things," he said.

    "I can organise lots of things," I said. It all depends on what you want."

    "I want somebody taken out," he said finally.

    "That I might be able to handle," I replied.

    "It’s somebody quite important," he said.

    I looked at him silently. "If you think I can’t do it why are you still here," I said.

    "I didn’t say that," he replied. I was just saying this might be a bit more difficult for you."

    He withdrew a large brown envelope from his briefcase and slid it over.

    "Look through the notes and you’ll see what sort of a man he is."

    I opened the envelope and drew out a sheaf of papers. I removed the paper clip and began sorting through the notes. After some photos there was a list of personal stats. Andrew N Lockwood-Leading Financial broker. It gave his date of birth and then went through the places where he had worked. I quickly lost interest and shifted through the rest of the notes, which consisted mainly of press clippings.

    "He’s a rich and powerful man," said the client.

    "Never heard of him," I said.

    "Controls a large slice of the financial sector, some would say too large. It’s time for him to be taken out of the game."

    "How much protection does he have?" I asked.

    "Far too much," he said. "He’s a paranoid man, and rightly so. He realises I am just one of many people who would relish his downfall. He has set up many levels of protection through false names and subsidiary accounts."

    "I meant on the street," I said. "When he goes out what sort of team goes with him."

    "Very little," said the client. "He has a personal assistant who I think has some sort of training, but that’s it."

    "That’s it?" I said. "Guy upsetting so many people and has just one assistant?"

    "He keeps a very low profile," said the man. "Nobody on the street would recognise him. He realises there are people who want to attack him, but they come only from a certain quarter, and they tend to play by a certain set of rules."

    "Which you decided to change," I said.

    "Precisely," said the man.

    I put the files back in the envelope. "Well it should be no problem. I’ll have a word with somebody I know and get back to you with a price. Probably have to kill the assistant too, but I guess that’s no problem for you."

    The man’s face went pale for a second, and then he tried to regain his composure.

    "I don’t want him killed," he said. "I said I wanted him taken out, you know, set up so he has to spend time in prison, a long time. I want to see his total downfall, and be able to revel in it."

    I looked at him trying to figure him out. "Killing would be easier," I said. "What you are asking for is gonna be hard."

    "I hear you were a police officer," he said. "Surely you can arrange something."

    "We’re not dealing with a ghetto kid here," I said. "I can’t just plant some crack on him, or put a throw down piece in his hand. With the lawyers he can afford. How long do you think that’ll stand up?"

    "I’m sure you can find something," said the man.

    "Sounds like too much trouble," I said. "I might walk away from this one."

    "I’m willing to pay for your trouble," he replied quickly. "Far more than you ever get for your murders."

    "I’ll think about it," I said. "If I can come up with anything I’ll get back to you."

    I phoned him later. I wanted it to be soon enough for him to be desperate, but not too long in case he lost interest.

    "How close are you to this guy?" I asked.

    "Not very," he replied. "We see each other at functions and talk briefly."

    "So you’ve never been to his house."

    "No."

    "You’re not making this easy," I said. "So there’s no chance at all you could get something with his fingerprints on them."

    "Not the remotest chance," he said. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

    "Just ideas," I said. "Seeing what might work. Would going down for murder be too much?"

    His voice suddenly rose and he started speaking a lot faster. "No, that’s fine," he said, "anything where he’s out of the way for a long time."

    "So you don’t want him killed, but anything else is fine," I said sarcastically. There was silence at the other end. I let it go, didn’t want to antagonise the guy too much.

    "Can you do it then?" he asked.

    "Somebody like him, with his amount of money," I said. "There’s very few crimes he would need to commit, but everybody can have a reason to kill."

    "What’s the plan?" he asked.

    "Nothing yet," I said. "I suppose it’s too mush to ask that he’s a member of gun club or goes shooting."

    "No," said the man. "There was an article in one of the financial reviews recently; it listed all his hobbies. There was nothing like that. It’s among the clippings I gave to you."

    "Okay," I said. "I’ll keep on thinking."

    I gave up on the idea of getting this guy for a few days, but the money kept on making me think of it. He was too rich and powerful for any obvious set-up to work. It would have to be rock solid for murder. There would, of course, be no confession, so there had to be at least fingerprints, and preferably a witness. I kept thinking of crazy ideas, trying to make it look like he’d killed somebody, but none of them got a second thought.

    Eventually, I realised the only way it would work, would be if I was the witness. This was a bad idea, but the only one that would work. And for me to make it work, there was going to have to a lot of money going into my back pocket. I called the client again and explained what I had in mind.

    "It’s the only way," I told him.

    "I don’t like it," he said. "If it falls to pieces you’ll be right in the middle of all the trouble."

    "I don’t like it either," I said, "but it’s the only way. Seeing as how I’m taking that sort of risk, the money is going to have be big time."

    "How much do you want?" he asked.

    "Make me an offer," I said, "but don’t try to haggle- one offer only and that’s it."

    He paused and finally said a figure that almost made me gasp.

    "How do you plan to do it?" he asked.

    I still don’t know that I can, but I’m going to try, believe me," I said, trying to keep my voice level.

    I’d talked myself into this now and was pretty much committed, but I’d still need the fingerprint angle. I’d never even been charged with anything, never mind convicted, but I’m sure there were plenty of people who had suspicions. Maybe there were enough of them to cause trouble if people started having doubts. There was only one way. It had to be me, him, the victim and a smoking gun with his prints all over it.

    I looked all over the photos again and decided. The only place there could be a gun with his prints on it, would be in his bedroom night-stand. Luckily, I knew somebody who could help me. That’s the good thing about working both sides, you always know somebody who can be used.

    "What do you reckon?" I asked as we passed by the house for the second time. Jimmy looked over at me from the passenger seat.

    "Expensive house," he said. "That usually means expensive alarms. It's going to be a lot of trouble, unless you want me to do an invasion. I could get him as he’s going in, be in and out real quick."

    "No way," I said. "This has got to be discrete. I want you in and out of there without anybody knowing. I want the alarm off, you in and out then the alarm back on again."

    "You’re joking," said Jimmy. "What’s the point of going to all that trouble?"

    The guy who lives there," I said. "We think he owns a gun that was used in a murder. We have no evidence, so we can’t get a warrant. But it was a pretty reliable whisper, so we got to check it out. It’ll probably be stored in his night side table, or under the pillow."

    "Get real," said Jimmy. "Who would hold onto a piece after it’s been used to waste somebody."

    "This guy apparently," I said. "It’s legally registered, and if it goes missing somebody might notice. We try anything and his lawyer is all over us."

    "Didn’t plan things too well, did he?" said Jimmy, looking at me suspiciously.

    "Heat of the moment," I said. "Even rich people can be stupid sometimes."

    "What he do, kill his wife?" he asked.

    "It’s best you don’t know," I said. "Just get me the gun, that’s all."

    Jimmy hesitated.

    "Plenty of money, and a couple of favours in it," I said. "Looking at three grand, just to get a gun."

    "And whatever else is there that I can get," he said, half to himself.

    "No," I said sharply. "He’s not to suspect a thing. Anything else goes missing it’ll screw everything up."

    "What if it’s not the right gun, you’ll probably want me to put it back," he said sarcastically.

    "We’ll talk about that if it happens," I replied. "Now you want it or not?"

    "Yeah, I want it," he said, straight off knowing there was no point haggling with me. "When do you want me to do it?"

    "Soon as possible," I said. "I want the gun out in a sealed plastic bag. And be careful. If it comes back from the lab, and they say it’s got your prints all over it you’ll probably be the one going down for it."

    "Yeah, yeah," said Jimmy. "Have some faith will you?"

    "I got plenty," I said. "That’s why I called you."

    I pulled over to the side of the road and let him out. "Call me as soon as you have it," I said.

    I spent the next three nights staking out the place, waiting for Jimmy to strike. I’d spent many times drinking with him, talking long into the night. He would tell me all about his technique, trying to get some respect from me. It didn’t work. I still thought he was a scumbag nobody, but it meant one thing-I knew the way he would get into this house. I sat there, wondering if he had lost his nerve or had been lying to me all these years.

    I also spent the time thinking of the best way to set the financier up. It had to be somewhere where he was pretty much alone, and that meant only one thing- the park. Every other time he was being escorted or was somewhere I shouldn’t be. He often went for walks in the park, usually only with his assistant in the late afternoon. I knew that would be the best time.

    The third night I saw a figure walk up to the house and swiftly scale the fence. I sat there waiting for him to leave. If it looked like he was carrying anything other than the gun, then I was gonna bust his head wide open for him. There was so much money riding on this one. Soon the figure came out the house and melted back into the shadows. From the way he was moving he wasn’t carrying much. I let him go, then went home myself, waiting for Jimmy to call.

    I got the call the next day. We arranged to meet down by one of the deserted warehouses by the docks. I parked behind him and walked up. Jimmy didn’t even get out of his car but powered the window down.

    "So you got it?" I asked.

    He turned to face me. "Sure," he said. "No problem, wasn’t in the cabinet like you said, so I had to look around for it, but it was there okay."

    "You didn’t take anything else?" I asked. "Nothing that’s gonna tip him off?"

    "No way," said Jimmy. "I was in and out with the gun, that was it."

    "You sure some jewelry didn’t take stick to your fingers?"

    "No, nothing man."

    I smiled to let him know I believed him. "Let’s have it then," I said. He reached over to the glove compartment and drew out the package.

    He turned around to face and saw the silenced 22 in my hand. I shot him straight in the head, then reached in and grabbed the package. I did trust Jimmy, but only up to a point. I couldn’t trust anybody when there was this much money involved and any slip meant heavy jail time for me. I’m sure he would have understood.

    I took a quick glimpse inside the package. There was a small revolver, inside a clear plastic wrapper. I smiled as I started the car.

    It was to be the next day when I did it. The more I waited, the better the chance of something going wrong. I tried to make excuses to delay it, but I was just wasting time.

    The next day I shadowed them around the park watching out for unwanted witnesses. They headed towards the little bridge where I had planned it to happen. I broke off and took the main bridge, then circled around, trying not to run. I had the stolen revolver in my jacket clenched tightly in my fist, the disposable plastic gloves making my hand sweat so bad I wanted to take them off and wipe my hands, but there wasn’t time.

    I came around as they crossed the bridge. I looked around- there was nobody. They didn’t even look up at me as I approached. I drew the gun and without saying anything shot the assistant in the head. He went down flailing and Lockwood looked at me now. He tried to keep himself under control but the eyes showed the fear.

    I held the moment, making sure the man was dead, then I threw the gun at his feet. He looked at the gun, then at me.

    "There’s five more shots in it," I said. I stripped off the gloves and threw them over the bridge. I took the time hoping he would take advantage and reach for the gun.

    "I knew something was up when I noticed the gun missing," he said.

    "You’ve just shot your assistant with your own gun," I said. "Your prints are all over it, and now you’re under arrest. Take your hands out slowly and raise them in the air." I reached for my gun and aimed at him.

    "It might be hard to explain," he said shifting slightly, "how I could fire a gun and leave prints when I had a deliberate accident yesterday, burning all my fingertips." At this he drew out his heavily bandaged hands from his overcoat and held them up to me.