Chapter 9 - Who Is Tom Floyd?
As fate's theme of the day appeared to be 'screw Harry Potter', Harry expected that everything that could go wrong would go wrong. There was an imperative need to take out his mounting frustration on someone deserving because the next thing that went wrong would definitely make him snap.
If not for Muller's burly figure blocking the exit to the Briefing Room, he would have stormed out of the Ministry and done just that. What placated him was the knowledge that he could do that later tonight. A crazed grin formed on his face that worried even the usually unflappable Andy. Harry looked mad, as in certifiably mad.
"What's with the deranged look?" Andy asked as casually as she could.
"Well, you heard Jack," he said, his voice a bit excitable, "He wants us to find out what Greasy's up to."
"And you were thinking…"
"To go visit Greasy and ask the man himself," he replied, nonchalantly, then sarcastically, "After these highly informative briefings, of course."
"And it's too late to call my insurance broker," she muttered under her breath, poker-faced. "Next time, warn me if you have harebrained suicidal plans like that so I can increase my life insurance coverage."
Andy tried to distract him as they waited for the rest of the MLE to join them.
"So, what did he want?"
"Who?"
"The ghost."
"Help, to not become a ghost anymore."
"Really," scoffed Andy, "Seemed to me like your rude ass of a friend loves being an imprint. Why? Is he bored out of his wits being a juvenile prick?"
Harry found himself defending Ron's actions, "Forget that. That was all about me. He's really a nice guy once you get to know him."
"Easy for you to say. He wasn't feeling you up with cold clammy fingers," Andy retorted. "And if he's nice then I'm sweet. He should be grateful I'm not reporting him to the Ghost Misconduct Bureau."
"Do you know any ghost experts who can help him? He's nearing his deadline to cross over and seems to be having trouble passing on. He seems to think he has to do something before a portal can open for him."
"It should be pretty obvious to him that he has to apologize to every living soul he has offended for being such an insensitive pigheaded nincompoop," she pointed out. Harry had always thought it very articulate of her to find so many ways to describe people she disliked. "I bet that will take forever. Do you really have to help him?"
Really, Harry could just ignore Ron and let him rot in the Forest Hill haunted house.
"He's my best friend," of course he had to, "And he also wants me to tell Hermione to come and see him."
Andy burst into uncontrollable laughter that brought tears to her eyes. Harry joined in, recognizing the hilarity (or was it wretchedness?) of his situation. It took some time and a Muller death glare to make them stop as their boss took to the podium and started giving an update.
"Tom Floyd, early thirties, male, Caucasian, raised American but now a resident of Toronto. The name is an alias. We do not know who he really is or where he comes from. All we know is that his Muggle rap sheet is not for light reading and he's starting to have an impressive one on our records. Robbery, assault, battery, rape, murder, all accusations, no convictions. We also suspect that over the past year he has acquired quite a following of Muggle and Squib criminals."
A hand shot up in the back, "He's not a wizard?"
"We don't think so," Muller shot a glance at Harry, expecting protest which did not come. "He has never been seen using a wand."
As Muller went through the more salient points of Tom Floyd's lengthy and notoriously storied resume which Harry knew by heart, he remembered the first time he met the murderer about a year ago.
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February 14, 2006 - The Ghoul Waterhole, Corner of Elm and McCaul, Toronto.
After an almost hour long ride through Toronto traffic with a lovesick cabbie listening in agony to love songs on the radio, a man that looked very much like Roy Hunt got off in front of a dingy edifice that was one loose nail away from being condemned. No wonder the driver raised an eyebrow when he told him his destination. It was one thing wanting to go to a Downtown pub at ten in the morning, but this one?
The real Roy Hunt was firmly ensconced in a London prison still nursing physical and emotional bruises when the fake one arrived in Toronto by plane very late the night before and checked into a Muggle hotel near Pearson airport as scheduled. Polyjuiced Harry had spent the entire time before the flight in a room in the Ministry of Magic, honing up on his knowledge of and being the con man, under Dean's watchful eye.
While the Ministry could only surmise that Hermione would be safe until Hunt made contact with Waxball, Harry was not satisfied until he was informed that she had turned in for the night and that Kingsley had managed to persuade the Toronto MLE to assign twenty-four hour Auror protection on her. Still, sleep came with difficulty and the first thing he did when he awoke that morning was call her on his personal untraceable cell phone.
"You're in Toronto? That's wonderful!" she was as glad to hear from him as he was to know she was fine. "But what's with the voice?"
"I must be coming down with something," he lied, as he struggled to impersonate himself. The Ministry issued 'longer acting' Polyjuice potion not only caused him to look like Hunt, it also made him sound like Hunt.
"It could be that nasty bug that's going around," she informed him and the Healer in her sprang into action, "Let me come over and take a look."
"No, no," he cut her off, "I'll be fine."
"Are you certain?"
"Positive," he could only think that if Waxball already had someone on her or him, having her come to meet a friend where Hunt was staying would raise red flags. Then without thinking, he said to her, "How about dinner? Tonight."
"Dinner?" she asked as if she didn't know what that meant.
"You know, dinner. Fancy restaurant, well-dressed waiter, clean cutlery, maybe some food. It is Valentine's Day. It will be like a date."
Was that a giggle? Odd.
"Fine. Dinner then, but you're going to the theatre with me before that and I'm not taking no for an answer."
"The theatre?" he mimicked her earlier tone of momentary loss of understanding.
"Yeah, theatre. You know, made up stage, attentive audience, fine actors, maybe a performance," he could hear her smile.
He groaned to tease her, "I just walked into that clueless, didn't I?"
Hermione merely laughed as she told him where and when to meet. Not knowing what Waxball had planned for Hunt, he really wasn't sure he could but he had to say something to detract her from fussing and coming over. He would try his best to be available for their date, hoping this thing would be over by then.
And even if it wasn't, he could still take some Anti-Polyjuice Potion tonight. After all, protecting her was part of his assignment and what better way to do that than spend most of the night with her. As long as she didn't know, he would have a rock-solid excuse should Kingsley think that inappropriate.
The meeting with Waxball was at ten and he had about five minutes to get settled. Still queasy from the cab ride from hell, he was also nervous despite having in his pocket his transfigured wand and a signalling device that would send at least one MLE immediately to his aide and alert more to come.
Being a place of ill-repute, it required that the Ghoul look the part to prevent good customers from coming in. It was a known hotspot for illegal activity and was owned by Waxball himself. As he opened the door, he immediately heard the sound of a roomful of people chatting in disorganized unison.
He quickly scanned the room. The Ghoul actually looked respectable once one got past the entrance. The bar occupied an entire side and across from it on the opposite wall were two pool tables. In between, lining each side were booths. It sat maybe thirty, forty at most. There were two other exits; one was marked 'fire route' farthest from him, leading to the washrooms, and the other was a staff access only door beside the bar.
"Roy Hunt, here to see Tex Waxball," he said to the woman who seemed to have a list and checking guests in.
She pointed him over to the farthest booth from the entrance near the fire exit and turned her attention to more arrivals. There were about twenty people, mostly men, a handful were women. It was difficult to ascertain if there were any witches or wizards in the group though everyone there could pass as Muggles.
As he got to the booth he noticed three men already talking animatedly. One of them was Tex Waxball, whose plump and angelic face looked up and greeted him immediately. For a head hunter, he seemed too trusting.
"Mike Klys and Tom Floyd, Roy Hunt," Waxball introduced them.
Klys, the blonde bespectacled bloke across Waxball, shook his hand firmly as they were introduced. Floyd, a serious looking man with steely grey eyes and slick black hair was expressionless, and did not even look at him.
"First time?" Klys asked him as he sat down.
"Yes and I don't even know why I'm here."
"I apologize for being cryptic. Muggle mail is easily intercepted," Waxball explained.
"So what is this about?" Harry asked, all business, trying to get nerves out of the way.
It was Klys who answered, "There's a big conference on magical research in Toronto. It draws world class wizards and witches, some only seen publicly at this time of the year. Our task is to gather unpublished, raw, research ideas; the more documented and well formed they are, the better."
"By gather, you mean steal."
Waxball made a point, "If I wanted something stolen I would have hired thieves. You are con men. Technically, you're not stealing. If you're good, and you won't be here if you aren't, you'll only have to ask and they will share their best kept secrets with you. Or the worse that you can do is borrow and return."
"A wizard can easily do what you want. Why use someone like me?"
"Magical folk underestimate Squibs all the time," Waxball answered, "There are a few Muggles here too. Wizards and magic will raise an alarm with the MLE but they won't expect this from us. It is very important that the victims don't know what happened."
Floyd interjected with a detached voice, "Or not be able to tell anyone if something did."
"But as a rule, we cannot draw attention to what we're doing," Waxball snapped as a rebuttal to Floyd's statement, who immediately reddened in embarrassment. "I expect that you studied your target."
"I know her like the back of my hand," Harry answered. He only did so he would know what they knew.
"Granger is one of the most promising prospects we have. She's bright, energetic, full of ideas that could be worth a lot of Galleons. She's getting married in a few days to the same guy she's been with for ten years. See if you can interest her in a last fling." Waxball certainly knew a lot more about Hermione than what was contained in the dosier, "Your reputation with witches precedes you. That's why you were chosen for the job."
"She should be a piece of cake. Most stuck up bookworms are. Consider it done," he answered with the cockiness Roy Hunt had, hoping that Hermione would never find out he said something like that about her.
"You might have a problem," Floyd spoke lazily.
"What problem?"
"We intercepted a call this morning," Waxball explained. Harry immediately knew which one. "She's meeting a male friend tonight after seven. We don't know who exactly but definitely a wizard."
"I'll take care of it," came Harry's bold reply, concerned that if they had her phone tapped, what else was there. "You are having her shadowed, right?"
"Only up until you make your move, then you're on your own," Waxball turned to Floyd, "Tom here has volunteered to back you up if you run into any problems. His and my numbers are on the cell."
Waxball handed him a phone and was about to leave.
He hurriedly asked, "I was wondering, for my resume, who is our generous employer?"
"If you have something useful, you'll get to meet her tomorrow morning," Waxball smiled and he walked to the adjacent booth followed closely by Floyd.
Harry turned to Klys who was eager to teach Hunt the ropes.
"He said that last year, too, but she was a no-show."
"Who is she?"
"I was hoping you could tell me," Klys said to him, "The word on the street is she's a bitch of a witch from across the Atlantic. It seems pretty steep paying a bunch of con men fifty G's up front each and another fifty on delivery for a job that she'd like done by six tomorrow morning. But whoever she is, she's got very deep pockets. The witch obviously is getting a lot of good stuff from this, hence the monetary investment, and the need for it to happen swiftly and remain covert."
Lestrange immediately came to mind though he did not repeat it. So, no wizards and witches; just Squibs and Muggles. He was breathing a bit easier now, though he eyed Floyd with a lot of concern.
"I know Waxball recruits but what does the greasy guy do?"
Klys looked around and dropped his voice before speaking, "Floyd is Waxball's 2nd in command but exactly the opposite. Every sweet leader needs an enforcer. Really troubled and crazy. A maniac. He's got a violent Muggle rap sheet the length of Tolstoy's War and Peace."
"He's a Muggle?"
"He claims to be Pure-blood but no one knows for sure. Waxball can't control Floyd and some even wonder if Floyd's moving in on him, particularly since that incident a year ago."
"What incident?"
"Floyd has a serious problem with witches, likely a bad previous experience. Which Squib has not been jilted by one, eh? He pines for them but hates them. Floyd almost blew the entire operation last year when he raped and murdered a German Healer who apparently wasn't too impressed with his moves. Waxball flipped but covered up his mess."
A cold shiver went up his spine as he remembered Kingsley's description of how Helga Braun's dead body was found. So that was Greasy's handiwork.
Klys gave him some advice, "Just keep an eye out for Floyd. He might find your subject interesting, in which case, just let him do what he wants. Fifty G's isn't worth getting beat up for which was what happened to the guy Waxball assigned to that German witch. His face got so messed up, he won't be able to con anyone, not even a hag, even if his life depended on it."
Harry was obviously not taking it. His assignment seemed easy. The Ministry had given him some bogus potion research ideas that were interestingly dark enough but were definite dead ends. He could pass them off as Hermione's the following morning. That sounded too easy.
It was evident to Harry what the next step would be; he would have to contact Kingsley and tell him about tomorrow, and Waxball, his recruits and possibly their generous employer could be arrested as soon as Harry was certain there was enough evidence to charge them. That meant he would have to be Roy Hunt until then. And unfortunately, it seemed that Roy Hunt would have to meet with his target after all. For a moment, he pondered what to do about tonight.
The room suddenly fell silent and he looked up to see Waxball and Floyd up front and centre.
"Thank you all for coming," Waxball said to the group, "As I promised, merely showing up for this twenty hour job will earn each of you fifty-thousand dollars and the monies are being deposited to your accounts right this very minute. Another fifty will be given to each person who accomplishes their task."
There was wild applause from the crowd. This crowd was definitely in it for the money.
Waxball continued, "As an added incentive for this year, each person who succeeds with his or her mission will get something else."
"What is it?" someone asked.
"It's a surprise. Let me just say, it's something you've always wanted."
"An autographed copy of the latest edition of Kwikspell!" Klys said, drawing laughter from the group.
"Not quite, but I will throw in a copy of Kwikspell," Waxball smiled even as the man beside him remained stoic.
Floyd had taken out loose change from his pants pocket and started rolling each over the other, repeatedly, as if a ritual, within his left hand.
"An all out orgy?!" another man called out eliciting a boisterous reaction from his fellow recruits.
Waxball laughed, "No. I wouldn't want one, not if it involves you! It won't be a surprise if I tell you. To those who do well, we are to reconvene tomorrow morning at six. Good luck ladies and gentlemen. Happy conning!"
Harry was ready to leave when he saw Floyd walking over towards his general direction. The coins caught his attention. Floyd stopped right beside him and only then did he recognize that they were not Canadian Loonies as he originally thought they were but American Sacagawea dollar coins. Harry stood up to match his icy stare.
"Hunt, you'll get another fifty grand right now. I'll take care of Granger. There's no need for you to be here."
"No, it's quite okay. I actually enjoy my work," Harry replied civilly, thinking Roy Hunt really did like his job.
He was hoping Floyd would back off. While he would like to nail the man for the murder of Helga Braun right that very second, not only did he not have proof that Floyd did it, the bait of busting the entire ring with their leader was over and above that at the moment, unless Hermione got into more trouble.
The sound of metal against metal stopped as Floyd seemed surprised at the challenge.
"I won't be nice the third time I ask. Go home."
"Toronto seems like a nice city and I just got here," Harry did not notice that a crowd had gathered around them. "Really, have you read her file? You're not her type. She would never go out with a complete moron like you."
As soon as he said the last word, he saw Floyd's left shoulder flinch. Harry anticipated the fist that sped towards his face from the left side. Quick reflexes allowed him to step back and dodge the punch, using Floyd's momentum to slam him down hard onto the wooden table, face first, with a loud bone crunching sound. Klys could not move further back as blood spurted onto his spectacles.
"Ugh!" Klys exclaimed, disgusted by the bright red fluid that came from Floyd's broken nose.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know he was a bleeder," Harry met Floyd's furious expression with calm. One good thing about having been a Hit Wizard for so long was the necessity for proficiency in non-magical combat.
"You broke his nose!" Waxball had joined the fray and was now trying to aid Floyd.
"Actually, he broke it himself," Harry answered and gave a feigned apology, "So sorry, mate. I was merely trying to get out of your way."
Floyd remained silent, both his hands on his bloody muzzle, his eyes either red from wrath, or pain, or both. At that point, Harry knew for a fact they weren't ever going to be best friends.