Chapter 12: No more Mister Nice Guy

The address of the makers of the Liberty Head is on the box it came in, and that’s where I head, lugging it down the streets and making a right fool of myself. After an hour of pleads and threats I find the most effective one is “If you don’t take this back I’ll come down here everyday.” I know it’s insulting, but it works, and I feel pretty darned good about myself as I step into the street.

My phone buzzes. “Hello! If you’re looking for James Ev – ”

“Shut up, James, and come down here now.” There’s a quavering note to my superior’s voice and it’s also the first time he’s called me ‘James’.

Half an hour of disputed taxi fares, missed buses and wrong trains later, I arrive at the bridge where Yuki and I first met. Good times.

But as I near the dead body on the ground, my heart stops and starts, going slower and faster, as irregularly as David Beckham’s appearances for LA Galaxy. Or, basically speaking, it was damned irregular.

Yuki is dead. My Yuki is gone. And I think I know who did it.

Up until now, I’ve been nice. I’ve told jokes, I’ve tried to be funny.

Up until now.

But she’s crossed the line. She’s violated the Rule. She’s killed a loved one. No more oh-what’s-for-dinner-pizza-drops-on-head slapstick comedy. No more a-guy-walks-into-a-bar jokes. No more Mister Nice Guy.

Round one went to me, I think. Round two went to her.

Round three will go to me, or my name isn’t James Bond.

I meant Evans.