Deadly revolver

There is a large parking space outside the Gigolo marked ‘Hotel Use Only’ and yet it seemed that our concierge friend seemed keen to allow only a select few access. A barely opened window, a swift exchange of something each way between concierge and passenger and that was it. No-one got out or tried to enter the hotel at all. Now I may be somewhat advanced in years and more than a little naïve but I know a drug-deal when I see one. In many countries the Police have all but given up trying to control drug-taking and concentrate instead on catching large shipments at or about the point of entry. Spain is no exception but this amount of ‘traffic’ was blatant so I had a good look around for any others who might be watching the coke-dealing Concierge. Witnesses are an unwanted intrusion in my game and you never know, some ‘ambitious ‘Guardia’ might be looking to make his name by getting in my way. It wasn’t long before I spotted some workmen who were a little out of place as they came in and out of a building with a skip outside further down the street.

The skip never seemed to get any fuller despite their constant tipping and then I realised that the lump of rubbish in the wheelbarrow stayed where it was as they tipped-it, just a handful of dust flew as the front of the barrow hit the skip – clever! A van that seemed impervious to parking restrictions also figured in my observations so it looked very much as though I wasn’t the only watcher. It looks as though I’ll have to work a little cleverer here.

We judge and remember people in many ways, maybe their walk, what they are wearing or something that they are carrying. I have noticed that if you wear brown clothing and carry a broom you are rendered invisible in most situations. Wear black clothing with maybe a tie or scarf in a primary colour people assume you are staff and therefore also invisible. Carry a clipboard and the illusion is complete. Turn that clipboard into a weapon and you’ve cracked it.

Not all clipboards are created equal. Most are plastic or covered paper but a rare few are made of metal. I bought one of those and sharpened one corner with a hand-file and emery-paper to a keen edge that would cut toilet paper, so skin and tissue won’t be an issue.

 

Hotels have cameras facing out, usually, to see who is arriving, so it was important to stay in the zone of the revolving doors, allowing the glass to distort images and also so that I can go out again straight away.

Before long the target reveals himself by making a rare effort to help a customer into their waiting Mercedes.

Once the car has gone I follow him into the revolving door, waiting until I am almost right around and out again before bumping the glass. The door stops – once – twice and he comes back at me, shouting angrily to ‘stay away from the door’, putting his hand in to push me back from the divider. As if to comply I step back, slashing the clipboard into and smartly across his neck and pushing him back out of the doorway at the same time. The door spins, then stops again, with room for me to walk smartly away outside, as he blunders into the next segment of space, fountaining around the rapidly reddening, no longer rotating, scene of his demise.

On the street, all is quiet at first, but then a scream from the hotel doorway lets the ‘builders’ know something is wrong. They  shout into their sleeve-microphones and run towards the building. The doors of the badly -parked van burst open with more men as a black BMW pulls up at the kerb, decides better of it and speeds-off – directly into the path of the now no longer-parked van. Choas and confusion cover me as I round the corner and pick up the accordion again. Slipping the  clip-board into the back, I pull the bellows together and strap the instrument up before slowly resuming my get-away. I deserve a coffee, perhaps in the Thyssen gallery, a very civilised way to spend an afternoon in Madrid.