The sun was coming up when he got home and he collapsed into bed, shoving the DVDs onto the floor as he fell. He slept, the book clutched in one hand.

When he awoke, he spent the next few hours amusing himself by doing something, then going back and reading about it. The description of his masturbation was particularly vivid and he prided himself on the quality of the writing. It was only when he was sat in front of the TV, thinking about heading off to work, that he thought he might read on. It felt naughty somehow, and he checked around the flat, feeling utterly daft, but unable to stop himself.

Satisfied he was alone, he turned the next page.

 END OF PART ONE

Well, duh.

ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DO THIS?

He looked at that page for a while. Why wouldn’t he? Maybe he died in some horrible way and had to spend the rest of his life looking forward to it. Or maybe he never got laid again, and his palms got so hairy everyone called him ‘ape man’. He chuckled, and shook his head, then turned the page

DISCLAIMER:

THE CREATORS OF THIS BOOK ARE IN NO WAY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT HAPPENS IF YOU CHOOSE TO READ ON.

And then, in much smaller type:

These words are written on paper, not stone.

Enough already. He turned the page, and began to read, seeing almost immediately where he could go with this. As he read about crime after crime, written up in detail by him, he began to bounce up and down in his chair, giggling quietly. He needed to plan, to make this work just right.

That night, his shift went past in a flash, head down and pen scribbling in his scrawling, haphazard handwriting. By the time he left, he had the names of every criminal he would come into contact with in anyway over the next twenty years. Most weren’t worth bothering with, too small-time, but a few came through the station having succeeded in some serious heists, taking serious cash. He left work, the sun slanting into his eyes as he walked thoughtfully to the tube. Thoughtful wasn’t a word he’d have used, but that was what the book said, and who was he to argue. Feeling ‘thoughtful’, he headed home to change and shower, then went to meet his first’ contact’.

The house was nice, big and white and overlooking the park, and it looked like this guy already had enough cash, but some people can never have enough. He rang the doorbell and was gratified to see the man described in the book, bleary-eyed and wearing a dressing gown.

“Yes?”

He was one of them. Still, couldn’t be helped. He tried a smile.

“Hi, my name is James. I was hoping you might have a few minutes to talk to me. I think we may be able to help one another.”

The man looked at him askance, stepped back to usher him in, then stopped suddenly.

“Sorry, can I ask what it’s about exactly?”

James thought, then smiled again, considerably less pleasantly.

“It’s about the pyramid scheme.”

The man stared at him, eyes widening just enough to tell him what he needed to know. He went on quickly.

“I know it’s a new thing, but I think I might be able to give you a few pointers on how to make it more…effective.”

The man stood back, and James walked in, taking in the wooden floorboards and potted plants, the fancy paintings and umbrella stand. Who actually had an umbrella stand? The man stomped into the kitchen and he followed, running his finger over the huge granite worktop. He didn’t want to be here very long.

“So Martin, you’re either running, or about to run a fake pyramid scheme that will con a large number of people out of a very large sum of money. You’ll do very well from it, but you’re going to leave a few bits of rather clumsy evidence around that will see you sent down for about five years and all your lovely money taken away, which is how it should be, because you’re a very bad boy.”

The man had gone even whiter and was holding the jug from his coffee percolator in one hand. It clattered onto the work surface and he stepped toward James.

“Who are you? How dare you come into my home and accuse me—“

He raised a hand, stopping him mid rant.

“Please, don’t bother. I’m accusing of nothing you aren’t doing and you know it, so don’t play coy with me. I’m not here to nab you, otherwise I’d have done it already. I’m here to help.”

He paused, leaning back against the worktop.

“You see, I know what the evidence is that gets you caught, and I can tell you that, so you don’t get caught.”

The man’s expression had become one of suspicion, and he shook his head.

“What’s in it for you?”

James shrugged, then smiled.

“fifteen percent.”

“And how the hell do I know you can do what you say you can?”

“Does anyone else know about your scheme?”

The man shook his head.

“I do, so I guess that makes me a little bit special. Also, I’m not sure what choice you have. Go ahead with it without me, and see what happens, be my guest.”

He turned and made his way down the hall. The shout reached him just before he reached the door, and his grin returned.

“Wait, hold on.”

He turned, and Martin’s head popped out from the kitchen.

“10 percent. No more.”

He sighed and shook his head. This was so much fun. He waited another beat, then replied.

“Thirteen, or I’m walking.”

He was in a movie. The book had turned him into a player, the coolest cat, working both sides of the law and answerable to no one but himself. Martin nodded and he clapped slowly.

“Good choice, very good choice. I’m going home to sleep now, then I’ll come back this afternoon and we can talk about the mistakes you aren’t going to make anymore.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, and stepped out into the morning sunshine. One down. He’d hit another couple today, then maybe do the rest tomorrow. If they were all as easy as that, it shouldn’t take very long.

He got home and read on. The scheme worked perfectly, and he nearly wet himself when he read the part where he checked his bank account, and found a hundred and fifty grand in there. That was it, that was the perfect ending. He slammed the book shut and drifted off to sleep.

 

Next installment, Sunday 21st July