The Fire by Robert White

yer troosers'."
    I swear Rick smiled too.
    "Not funny, but yes. Des was heartbroken. Anne filed for divorce."
    "And?"
    "Des buried his head in the sand, and gave it the big 'Catholics don't get divorced' thing."
    "And?"
    "And Anne took him to the cleaners."
    "You mean he let her."
    "This is Des we're talking about here, of course he let her. This guy is one of the toughest, meanest sons of a bitch you would ever meet...but when it came to Anne Margaret...he was a pussycat. Six weeks after the divorce was final, she married Donald."
    I was definitely drunk and close to making a fool of myself....again. I was determined not to make another failed pass at Mr. Fuller. Somewhere I found some resolve.
    "I'm going to walk to Piccadilly and get a cab," I slurred.
    Rick hesitated for a moment. Stupidly, I waited for him to offer to take me home. I didn't have to wait long.
    "Okay, come on then, I'll walk you, we've had enough bad news for one night. I don't want you getting turned over for your briefcase on the way."
     
    Strolling along Thomas Street and feeling quite tipsy, we talked about anything but Des and divorce. As we approached the junction with Oldham Street and Dale Street, my hackles began to rise.
    I put my arm around Rick and looked into his face; to anyone watching we were two lovers walking home. "That motorcycle that just passed us; that's his second time around the block."
    Picking up our pace slightly, we continued along Dale Street and headed for Piccadilly station. We passed Lever Street; and I clocked a battered Golf GTI parked on the left three cars down, half hidden behind an old Bedford van; two up, lights off.
    Rick saw it too.
    "It's a team, either cops or E4."
    "E4?"
    "Government surveillance crew; they look at anyone and everyone from terrorists to people that may be of interest to the Firm."
    I was doing my best to clear my head.
    "Why us? The Firm know where we are, we haven't been hiding out in the middle of nowhere."
    A black cab was approaching, its yellow light illuminated on the roof. Rick stuck out an arm.
    "The cops were looking at me months ago, before the Gibraltar job, I was about to do one abroad, keep my head down for a while. Maybe they found me again...Whoever it is...Let's test their resolve, shall we?"
    Rick barrelled onto the back of the cab, dragging me by the hand.
    The instant we were inside, the Golf pulled out from Lever Street and settled in behind.
    Rick produced two twenties from his wallet and stuck them through the glass divide.
    "Hey, pal, forty quid here if you can lose this dickhead behind us."
    The cab driver looked worried.
    "I'm not into anything dodgy, mate. I gotta think about me licence."
    Rick pulled another couple of twenties from his pocket and waved them at the cabbie. "Look," he said sharply. "The car behind is a private dick, paid for by my missus, she's spying on us; know what I'm sayin'? The bitch wants my balls for breakfast... just do your best, eh?"
    The driver looked at the notes, snatched them from Rick's hand and hit the gas.
    We lurched forward and even though our cab was slower than the Golf behind, the cabbie was sharp and clever with his manoeuvres.
    The surveillance team would have at least three vehicles plus the motorbike; they would complement their mobile capability with at least a couple of guys on foot. We were probably pinged by one of the foot-patrols when we left Odd Bar. They would have directed the Golf where to park. The motorcycle would relay our progress and all the various patrols could swap and change in order to remain covert. I knew exactly how it worked; I'd just spent eight grand on the course.
    The whole idea of surveillance is to follow your target unnoticed. This lot were failing miserably.
    Our cab accelerated and swung right into Portland Street. The traffic was at a near standstill, but our driver was undeterred and drove down the centre of the road to blaring horns and shaking fists. The Golf didn't follow but, almost