TRUMPED Short Story

 

Trumped
by Simon Maltman

A Mick Walker Story

 

1999

 

New York was New York. It was how you would expect to find it in winter. It was cold, noisy, and the streets were filled with people. Lots of people. I filled my lungs with sweet Marlboro tar, but my nostrils still managed to pick up the scent of grilling sausages, car fumes and somebody’s heavy aftershave. 

I crossed past The Museum of Modern Art and headed up Fifth Avenue. I finished my smoke and tossed it towards a drain. I stopped to catch my reflection in a shop window. My eyes were a little red, I hadn’t shaved all that well that morning, but other than that I suppose I looked alright. I marched on, getting closer to my destination, but not all that keen on getting there. 

When I peered through the glass of the café, I saw that McGoohan was already seated, blowing over the top of a cappuccino. He looked rigid as always, still and poised. His eyes met mine, but he didn’t react. I went on in, ignoring him and going straight to the counter. I ordered a coffee, waited as the distracted girl poured it, then I strode over to his table and sat down.

“So, what’s this all about?” 

“No pleasantries, Michael?” He asked, setting down his cup.

“Yeah, no pleasantries. You’re a prick and I’d never get tired of slappin’ the face of ya. What do you want?” 

He straightened his tie and his tiny black eyes danced behind his thick glasses. 

“You did try slapping me once before, remember? Not very nice.” 

I rolled my eyes and took a large slug of coffee. 

“It was nice enough for me. You’ve got exactly until I finish my coffee. Want do you want McGoohan?” 

In his usual drawn out fashion, he reminded me of my debt to the United States, how they had helped pay to keep me safe from my former colleagues in the IRA. I reminded him of what I had done for the good of the old US of A and how he had shafted me in the past. He didn’t like that so much. I did want to hear what he had to say, so I ordered another coffee and lit up a cigarette. 

“I want you to do something for me, Michael. Something very small. And in return, I will do something for you.”

“Like give me money?” 

“Yes, like give you money.” 

“Well, I don’t care all that much about money, my needs are pretty simple. And you already give me money. I’m getting looked after.” 

“Yes, but sometimes being given two dollars is better than being given one.” 

I flicked ash off my smoke and crossed my legs. 

“So, you’re going to double my allowance, Dad?” 

McGoohan gave a haughty laugh. “Well, no, let’s not be silly. But I can offer you a substantial bonus, if you would like.” 

“To do what exactly?”

McGoohan pulled off his glasses and began to clean them with a paper napkin. A waitress came across to offer a top up of coffee, but he dismissed her with a wave. 

“I need you to watch someone for me, just to watch, just tonight. It is very simple. I do not need you to do anything else, talk to anyone, get yourself in any trouble, just to watch. Do you think you could do that?”

I made a face. “Sure I could. Why me?” 

McGoohan returned his glasses to his pointed nose and briefly scanned the room. Then he leaned in. 

“I need someone on the outside. Someone I can, well, trust.” 

A mirthless chuckle escaped from my own throat as I stubbed out my Marlboro. “Oh, you trust me? That’s nice.”

He closed his eyes and licked his lips once, frowning slightly. 

“The sad situation is that I trust you more than many unknown employees within my organisation. I trust you more than many who work for this government actually, yes.”

“And you need it off the books?”

“Indeed.”

“Why so?” 

“Because I do, you do not need to know the finer details,” he said, his tone becoming irritable. 

“Well, I think that I do. You call me out the blue, we’re not exactly old war buddies, wanting me to do some unofficial spying for you. I’ll need to know who and why.” 

McGoohan offered me some scraps of information and we went around in circles a few times. He still wouldn’t give me a name. Then I made like I was going to leave. I wasn’t going to. Life had been rather boring since my recent exploits with Amy and Brandon. I’d hear him out. 

“Alright then, sit down.” He said flatly. 

I took my seat and leaned in, starting up another cigarette. McGoohan glowered at it as my lighter flipped open and the flame incinerated the end of the cancer stick. 

“There is a person of interest. We are keeping an eye on him, but there are certain restrictions on what we can and cannot do.” 

“So your boss doesn’t know?” 

McGoohan shut his eyes again which I took for a ‘yes.’ 

He continued, “This person, we have intelligence that suggests he has a meeting this evening. A very unusual meeting.”

“Okay.” 

His eyes surveyed the room briefly. “He is meeting some Russians.” 

“Okay. So what?” 

McGoohan rolled his beady eyes. “Very rich Russians. Russians with links to the KGB. Russians who have flown in especially to meet with him, so we believe.”

“Well alright then. Who is it?” 

“Ms Cavandish is going to help you,” he said changing the subject. 

“Amy is?” 

He nodded. 

That was another tick in favour of this proposition. I was surprised Amy had agreed, he really must have been paying well. Federal money. 

“Okay, but who is the guy?” I said impatiently.

McGoohan scratched at his chin, shifting in his seat. 

“C’mon, how am I going to watch a guy if I don’t know who he is?” 

McGoohan pursed his lips and then sat back in his chair and looked to the side and out of the window. He pointed. He raised his eyebrows.

“What, Tiffany’s?

He frowned. He pointed again. 

I stared out of the window. My eyes settled on Trump Tower. 

“Oh,” I said. 

 

The city was slipping into darkness. But only partial darkness. The artificial glare of neon was everywhere. I made my way to the old Meat Packing District. The innocuous white van was where it was meant to be. I knocked on the side. 

“NYPD, open up,” I called. 

The slide door flew back to reveal Amy sitting alone at a screen wearing headphones. 

“Very funny, Walker.” 

She was dressed in one of her best trouser suits, her hair tied back and a thin trace of makeup accentuating her natural beauty. 

 

“We’re back to Walker again are we?”  

“Yeah, if you’re going to be an annoying jerk. Get in.” 

I hopped in and she slid the door shut. She gave me a hug and I took in her light floral perfume. 

“Good to see you, Mick.”

“You too. How’s the freelance business going?”

She waved a hand around the van. “Picking up. How’s Brandon?”

“He’s dead on, back at the flat playing computer games. I didn’t want to get him involved in this.”

She nodded. “We’ll get a dinner booked in- the three of us. A proper catch up. So, here’s what McGoohan wants us to do.” 

I sat and avoided smoking, listening to Amy outline the plan. I was only to watch, I was not to approach, that was it. Had I got that? 

“Understood Cap’n,” I said with a salute. 

 

A few hours later and we were finishing a burrito in the back of the van. I had a smoke on a walk to pick us up some take-out coffees. 

We waited. 

We chatted.

Then we sat in silence for a while.

But it only took about an hour. 

The intelligence was that Trump would be picked up in a limo by a group of Russians from an upmarket hotel. He would be taken someplace unknown, and then once safely there, one of the Russians would call the big shots from Moscow. Then about a half hour after that there would be a secret meeting. 

We were to follow them and park us close as we could in the van. If needed, I should leave and get a little closer, but avoid all detection. I had evaded the British army many a time on the bogs and in the sewers of Derry, but this was very different. But nobody knew me here and all I had to do was to stay out of trouble.

            A limo pulled up, just down from us, at the rear of the hotel. We were in part hidden by three large industrial metal bins. The limo idled by the staff entrance. Two men in suits got out of it and went inside. A few minutes later and a third man was with them. They hurried across to the limo, hopped inside and it sped away. Amy waited a beat before pulling out and joining the oncoming traffic, allowing a few car lengths between us and the limo. 

“Was it definitely him?” I asked. 

“I think so, I can’t be sure. Was he wearing a mask or something?” 

“There was like netting or something on his face. So not to draw too much attention, I guess. It was enough to conceal him.” 

“Looked the right build.” 

“Yeah, though I’ve only really seen him in Home Alone. For like ten seconds.” 

“Home Alone Two,” Amy corrected me with a twinkle. 

 

We kept at least two cars behind them for five blocks. Then we lost them for a second in-between a platoon of yellow cabs. We picked them up on the next block over, then trailed them all the way to outskirts of the district.

“So, do you think Trump is really working for the Russians?” I said fidgeting with an unlit cigarette. I shrugged. “I mean, it’s a bit mad, right?” 

Amy took us down a wide street lined with run down offices, warehouses and lock-ups. She furrowed her brow. I liked it when she did that.

“Yeah, it sounds like a conspiracy theory, for sure. He’s just a businessman. But Mick, I worked for the FBI, a lot of stuff goes down. It’s not so crazy. For starters, he’s always owing a lot of people a lot of money. The guy pisses cash away. How many times has he gone bust? He’s a well reported womaniser and not someone known in this city for playing fair, or always legal.”

I nodded. “Like I say, I mostly know him from giving McCauley Calken directions inside one of his hotels. But yeah, I’ve seen him in the papers enough times, seems as crooked as they come.” 

“The guy is shady. There’d be a lot of dirt on him. There’ll be a ton of people on his case. What he loves is money. Some Russians ask him to do a few things for them, in exchange for a shitload of cash? Do you think he’s gonna say no?” 

“That’s true. Wasn’t there talk he’s going to run for president with a third party or some nonsense for the elections next year?” I said.

Amy snorted. “Yeah, there is. It’s a lot of bull- some right wingers trying to put a corrupt millionaire in The Whitehouse.  It’s a fantasy. We can safely say that Trump will never be president.”

 

The limo pulled up at a two-storey office block. The light was on in the hallway and in a second-floor room where the blinds were shut. Apart from that, it was in darkness. 

Amy parked up quickly behind a dumpster. 

“We can’t see a damned thing from here. You’re gonna need to get closer.” 

“Yes boss,” I said pulling open the door and stepping outside. I lit up the cigarette and breathed in a grateful plume. I exhaled before ducking down to Amy’s window. 

“Yes, I’ve got my microphone on, before you ask,” I said patting my chest before gesturing to my head to show my earpiece. 

“And don’t engage them, Mick. I’m serious.” 

She gave me that look.

“I know, I know,” I said before joining the slow crawl of pedestrians on the narrow footpath. Office workers were flowing to catch the subway, electricians and plumbers locking their tools up for the night. Nobody else was arriving here, everybody else was trying to get away.

I edged my way to a bus stop and joined the small crowd. I looked past them to see who I assumed was Trump being ushered into a side door. The door shut and two of the tough looking goons took up position outside. Both were huge, but one was a monster. They scanned the streets, hands shoved down into their coat pockets. 

“He’s just gone inside,” I said quietly, trying to not look like I was talking into a microphone, or like I was insane. 

“Okay, keep watch, see what happens.” 

 

A bus arrived and in an instant the street was all but deserted. I was more exposed and noticed one of the goons clock me. I looked up at the shelter like I was simply reading a timetable. Just then a woman ambled down along the sidewalk towards the mouth of the alley. She looked very much on something, was maybe forty, with fishnets, hair tied up high and a top that hid nothing. 

“Hey fellas, it’s a nice night. Never too early to party.” 

She was shouting towards the two men. They scowled and one of them growled something towards her. The woman put her hands on her hips.

“Well sugar, that just ain’t nice…” 

I couldn’t make out what else she was saying as she staggered a few steps closer to them. The first man’s face progressed from angry to livid. He hissed something at her in a guttural tone. 

“Fucksake,” I said under my breath. 

“Mick? What is it?” Amy’s voice asked in my earpiece. 

The woman pulled a face and put a hand on the first man’s shoulder. Instantly he grabbed her arm and pulled it up behind her back. She let out a whimper as the second man backhanded her across the face. 

Before knowing I was moving, I was almost upon them. The men’s dark expressions took me in. The big tall fella let go of her arm and took a sidestep away. 

“Mick, Mick what’s happening?” Amy buzzed again in my ear. 

“Is there a problem here?” I asked, stopping just in front of the group. 

The men gave each other a look. 

“Damn bastard near broke my arm,” the woman moaned, swaying and rubbing herself.

The first man shot her a look then set his eyes on me. The eyes were mean and as clear as finely cut glass. He took a step forward and pushed a hand hard on my chest. 

“Back off,” he began to say to in a thick Russian accent.

Before he had one syllable completed, I had grabbed his wrist, twisted it and jabbed him in the face with my left. As I let go, I clocked the second guy start to reach inside his jacket pocket. Then the door opened and a third comrade had joined the party. 

“Walker! What’s going on?” came a shout in my ear. 

“Just gimme a second for fucksake,” I muttered.

The woman gave me a frantic look and ran off down the street. 

I jabbed the first guy a second time- quickly. As he went down, I kicked out at the second one. He fell back and a Glock spilled from his pocket. I scooped it up just as the third man was reaching for his own weapon. I pointed the Glock at his head. It didn’t have a hammer so I could highlight my point, but the point was made well enough.

 

I collected the two remaining guns and ushered the three of them inside. There was a long, carpeted hallway, much nicer inside than I was expecting. I checked in a room on the left and found some kind of empty office. I made them go into it and locked the door behind me. I now had a Glock in my hand and two more in my pockets. It was better than two in the bush. 

I edged up the hallway, Glock stretched out in front, not really sure what the hell I was doing. I checked two rooms off to the side, both in darkness, but both I found to be empty.

What am I doing?

No contact, remember?

I moved around the edge of the hallway down to another long stretch. It was a strange place. It looked like it had been hastily painted, patchy, with a few bulbs hanging from the ceiling, absent of shades. 

“Walker… Mick, what the fuck is going on? I know you can hear me, I can hear you breathing.” 

“Just gimme a minute Amy, okay?” I whispered. 

“What are you doing? You’re not meant to be seen.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s too late for that, it wasn’t my fault.” 

“It never is.” 

“Just gimme a sec.”

 

There was a navy painted door at the end of the corridor. I slowed as I approached, then put my ear to it. I could hear voices talking beyond. All at once, I flicked the handle, pulled the door back and entered, gun outstretched. 

“Quick, in there,” hissed a man with another distinctive Russian accent. A portly man in a suit with his back turned made cumbersomely off to my right. I assumed it to be Trump. Then the Russian pulled a gun and dived off to one side, plunging a silenced shot towards me. 

I ducked behind a table and returned a shot. It boomed inside the space. I glanced off to the side to see Trump or whoever it was disappear into a room behind a large metal door. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of a bar locking into place. 

The lanky Russian had hit the ground hard and tumbled into a pile of boxes. Keen on avoiding an international incident, I shoved my gun into my jeans, skipped across and kicked the gun from his hand. The Russian replied by sweeping my legs from under me. I went down hard. Then we were both scrambling to our feet. He steadied himself first and launched a punch into my cheek. I replied with a glance across his chin. He hit me in my stomach and as I doubled over, he got a solid right hook in. The room spun for a second. I stumbled backwards and righted myself. He waited a beat too long, stepping into his next punch. I feinted to the left, then came around his side, raining blows down. He blocked a few, but I had him on the ropes. He managed to back into some space and when he made for a counter attack, he left himself open. I finished him with an uppercut. He went down, already unconscious before he hit the wooden floor.   

 

I blew out my cheeks, bent over and caught my breath. Then I stood back up and stared across at the metal door. I checked my watch. It had been about seven minutes since the woman outside almost had her arm broken.

I listened.

The rest of the building sounded quiet.

I strode across to the door. It was solid. I inspected the lock. I wouldn’t be shooting that off. This was well designed for keeping people out. I tried the handle, more just for the hell of it. No give. 

“The rest will be here in about two minutes,” came a voice from behind the door, “You hear me? The best there is, coming here. I don’t know who you are, but you’re dead, it’ll be so beautiful.” The voice was confident, American, but a little too confident.

“More of your Russian buddies, Mr Trump?” I said. 

There was a pause. “Trump? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not Trump. I’m just a businessman and you’ve come in here attacking foreign nationals. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, you know. You’re messing with World War Three.” 

“So, what’s your deal with these guys whoever you are? Investing in new fur coats? Looking at organising holidays to Siberia?”

“I don’t have to tell you shit. Get lost loser. What’s it to you anyway- what are you Scottish? I like Scotland. I don’t like you.” 

“I’m Irish, you prick. America wouldn’t have got made without us. Why don’t you come out from behind that door and talk to me properly? Talk to me like a man.”

“I’m just fine here.” 

I chewed the side of my mouth. This was pissing me off. The adrenaline was draining enough that I was asking myself again what the hell I was doing.

“Mick, there’s another car just pulled up outside. You need to get out of there,” Amy whispered in my ear, concern in her voice.

I sighed. 

“Alright Donny, I gotta go. I’m glad I spoiled your party a bit anyways. Your buds won’t like this. Maybe you won’t get those underage girls or whatever you’re buying.” 

“See you later Paddy, watch your back. You’re gonna regret this, you’re gonna regret this more than anything, ever.” 

“Okay, cool. You are what the French would call, ‘laise incompetent’. See you around dickhead. I never cared much for orange, now I really don’t like it. Keep off the fake tan, mate.” 

I moved swiftly across the room and began unlocking a window on the far side. Somewhere down the hall I heard a door fly open, followed by voices and the trampling of feet. I swung the window outwards, climbed through and lowered myself down. I rounded the corner, striding away at pace. Hoking out my smokes, I shook my head.

“Amy, you still there?”

“Yes, Mick.” 

“I really don’t like that guy.” 

 

End. 

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