for that poxy Osborne Road, and what does he get for his troubles? Operation fucking Tumbril. How's that for gratitude, then? No wonder this city's halfway down the khazi.'
Winter tried to hide his smile. Not only did Mackenzie believe all this stuff but most of it was probably true. Add a recently purchased kitchen equipment shop to his cafe-bars and tanning salons, and this man was transforming Osborne Road. Drugs money or otherwise, the heart of Southsea would be shabbier without the likes of Bazza Mackenzie.
'Just think about it,' Winter said quietly. 'That's all we're saying.'
'What's this 'we', then? They ask you to come here?'
'They?'
'Those fucking bosses of yours.'
'Of course they didn't. It's called initiative. Went out the window years ago.'
'And if they knew you were here?'
'Major bollocking. Either that, or another form to fill in. Listen, Baz, I'm just telling you, marking your card. Chasing Scouse kids round the city just isn't worth the hassle. Some people hate the sight of blood. You'd be amazed.'
'That's not the point. What else am I supposed to do? Dial treble nine? Come running to you lot? My line of work, it's just that.'
'Just what?'
'Business. Blokes try and muscle in, we give them a hiding. Same with Pullen. Twat like him messes with Trude, he knows exactly what to expect. That's the thing about us.' The laugh again, abrupt, challenging. 'We're dead straight. What you see is what you get.'
Mackenzie nodded towards the door. The gesture was Winter's cue to leave. Back on his feet, he drained the last of the malt and buttoned his coat. Mackenzie came round the desk. Close to, Winter suspected he'd begun to use blond tint on his hair.
'Another thing about young Trude.' Mackenzie wasn't smiling.
'Yeah?'
'Don't even think about it, OK?'
'Me?'
'Any of you guys.'
Winter nodded, giving the threat due respect, then paused beside the door.
'One thing I need to know, Baz.' He nodded at the curtained window.
'What's that?'
'Why green gels?'
'Ah…' Mackenzie touched him lightly on the shoulder. 'Colour of envy, mate.'
Trudy lay on her side, her head supported on her elbow, her hair tumbling over Suttle's face.
'Going to sleep on me?'
'Yeah.'
'You were brilliant. You're allowed.'
'Thanks.'
'I mean it.' She wetted her forefinger and traced a love heart across his naked chest. 'What about me, then. OK, was I?'
'I've had worse.'
'Bastard.' She leaned over him and retrieved a copy of FHM from the carpet beside the bed. 'What's this, then?'
Suttle opened one eye and found himself looking at a familiar photo spread of Jennifer Lopez.
'Forget it,' he mumbled. 'You'd fuck her out of sight.'
'You mean that?'
'Definitely. Except she's the one with the money.' He snatched at the magazine, then tossed it across the tiny bedroom. 'There's half a bottle of white in the fridge, if you fancy it.'
'You get it.'
'You're closest.'
There was a stir of cold air as she pulled back the covers. Suttle heard the soft pad of her footsteps on the stairs and the distinctive click as she opened the fridge door. Seconds later, she was back in beside him. The way her flesh goose pimpled reminded him of the night they'd found her trussed to the bed in Bystock Road.
'You first.' She'd only found one glass.
'No, you.'
He watched her sipping the wine and realised he hadn't been so happy for months. It can't be this simple, he kept telling himself. This easy.
She offered him the glass. When he reached out for it, she shook her head and dipped a finger before slipping it into his mouth. He sucked it for a moment, then asked for more. She smiled at him in the half darkness and Suttle caught the chink of glass as she lodged the glass beside the bottle on the cluttered bedside table.
'I meant more wine.'
'I know you did.'
'You're outrageous.'
'Yeah?' She was straddling him now, her breath warm on his face. 'Tell me something.'
'What?'
'Just say I had lots of money. Pots of it.'
'And?'
'Would you come away with me? Seriously, would you?'
'Come away where?'
'Dunno.' She nuzzled his cheek for a moment and then began to lick his ear. 'Wherever you like, really. Abroad? America? Thailand? Oz?
Don't care.'
'You mean for a holiday?'
'Whatever.'
'Not a holiday?'
'Doesn't matter. Just you and me.'
Suttle gazed up at her for a moment and then tried to struggle free, but Trudy was stronger than she looked.
'I've got you.' She began to giggle. 'And you still haven't answered the question.'
Faraday was on the way to Eadie Sykes's apartment when his mobile began to chirp. It was Willard. Faraday pulled the Mondeo into a parking space on the se afront and killed the engine.
'You called,' Willard grunted. 'If it's about that boy of yours, forget it.'
'Forget what, sir?'
'Whatever you were going to tell me. As I understood it, no charges have been laid. Police bail pending further inquiries. Am I right?'
'Yes, but the point is ' 'Wrong, Joe. There is no point. Nothing has changed unless you're telling me you want out, and even then you'd have to have a bloody good excuse.' He paused. 'As I understand it, there's fuck-all evidence against the boy, not when it comes to a serious charge. Anything else?'
Faraday stared into the darkness beyond the promenade. A late car ferry was heading out towards the Isle of Wight, leaving a long, white tail of churning water. Just how could he voice the thousand and one questions J-J had left in his own wake? About gullibility? About other people taking advantage? And most important of all about the sudden gap that had opened up between father and son? None of these issues was of the remotest relevance to Tumbril, and Willard doubtless knew it.
'Nothing else, sir.'
'Good. Heard from Wallace yet?'
'No. I left a message.'
'Bell me when he rings. Doesn't matter how late.'
'Of course.'
