he’d given his company, ‘Warpspeed Communications’, he obviously didn’t mind the world knowing that he was an ardent ‘Trekkie’. Nel-M would have put in the bug himself if it wasn’t for the fact that Truelle would recognize him; also, he needed someone who could do it in one minute flat rather than five or six.
‘Nothing like a good stitch up,’ Nel-M commented. ‘Also, make sure there’s no tell-tale egg or ketchup stains down the front that might give the game away that it’s the same uniform.’
Barrel huffed and muttered a response that Nel-M didn’t hear.
‘And let me know as soon as they’re both in place and we’re live.’
Larry had just gone through the gate at the end of his cell block to head down to the showers when he was approached by one of the guards, Dan Warrell.
‘You’re wanted up in the library.’
‘Am I back on duty there, then?’
Warrell shrugged. ‘Don’t know about that. All I know is the guy up there, Perinni-’
‘Peretti.’
‘Yeah. Well, he’s apparently stuck with something. Needs a hand.’
‘Okay,’ Larry nodded. He wasn’t suspicious. Warrell didn’t have any allegiances with Bateson, was very much his own man. If you had a grievance and wanted it dealt with fairly and evenly, Warrell or Torvald Engelson were the best to go to.
‘I’ll see your way up there.’ Warrell led the way up the two flights of steel steps, then along forty yards of corridor, half of it flanked by cells.
Warrell took out his security card as they approached the gate. Beyond lay store rooms, a guards’ watch room and canteen, and the library.
Peretti was at the far end of the library and looked surprised to see Larry, though pleasantly so.
‘Back to give me a hand then?’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Couldn’t trust me to be on my own too long in case I screwed everything up?’
‘But you said you wanted a help out with something?’ Larry pressed, one eyebrow arching.
‘Not me. Naah.’ Peretti shook his head.
Larry turned to Warrell, his eyes narrowing. ‘I thought you said I was wanted here?’
‘Yeah. That was what I was told.’
‘
With the intensity of Larry’s glare and his cutting tone, Warrell flinched slightly. ‘Uh… Bateson. Glenn Bateson.’
Larry ran ahead of Warrell, realizing he needed him as he came up to the gate.
‘Get me back through this. And
Under Larry’s icy glare, Warrell’s hand shook uncertainly as he slid in his card. He wasn’t about to argue or question.
Back along the corridor, down the two flights of stairs, leaping them three and four steps at a time, Larry was already breathless as he hit the passage by his cell block at full pelt. One more flight down to the shower stalls, and another thirty yards of passage before the security gate by the shower stalls.
Breath ragged, heart pounding, Larry saw that there were five or six men by the gate to the showers, being handed towels and waiting for that same number to come out so that they could go through; the normal routine.
But what was not normal, Larry quickly picked out, were the lights out at the far end and no guard looking into that section.
‘Man in distress at the far end!’ Larry shouted, pushing through the men waiting.
The guard by the gate, Fisk, in thick with Bateson, blocked his way defiantly. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I said man in distress at the far end!’ Larry raised his voice to screaming pitch. His only hope was rousing the attention of the three guards by the early sections, and hoping to God they weren’t all in on it with Bateson. ‘
One of the guards looked uncertainly towards the rear cubicles then back at the gate, confused.
Larry saw the alarm button a yard to one side, and, remembering Rodriguez in the boiler-room, leapt across and hit it.
The jangling bell finally galvanized the guard into action, Larry keeping up his mantra, ‘Man in distress…
15
‘Bye-bye’ had got his nickname because fellow Malastra capos and soldiers had noticed that it was usually the last thing he said before he wasted someone with his favoured Cougar 9mm; and, as Malastra’s main trigger- man, it was something he said often.
Though with the name apparently came some unintentional humour: often when he called out ‘Bye-bye’ in parting, others would flinch or lift one arm up, worried that any second his Cougar would be pointing and firing.
But it was difficult for George Jouliern to laugh about it now, because pretty soon those words would probably be the last thing he’d hear.
They were in an old warehouse, musty and humid, and Jouliern looked morosely at the blue plastic sheet, usually used as a damp membrane in construction, spread beneath him. Eight yards away a furnace, probably lit over two hours ago, glowed red from its aperture.
Jouliern sat in the middle of the blue sheet, his hands tied behind his back, but his ankles free. Bye-bye held his Cougar on him steadily from three paces away and, at points when Bye-bye had leant over or turned, Jouliern had noticed the sheathed machete and knife tucked in the back of his belt.
Jouliern knew the routine well enough. He’d be shot with the Cougar, his body chopped into pieces, the whole mess then wrapped in the blue plastic and thrown into the furnace. Within forty minutes there’d be absolutely no trace of him. Jouliern’s stomach sank at the thought of it.
He looked up, trying to inject a hopeful tone into his voice. ‘You kill me — you’re not going to find out who else was in on it with me. You think I did the whole thing alone?’
Bye-bye smiled tightly. ‘You know there’s no deals on something like this. You know the score, George.’
‘I know.’ Jouliern’s tone sank back as he arched an eyebrow. ‘So, you’re saying you don’t want to know who else was involved?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ Bye-bye contemplated his shoes for a second. ‘Look, if you tell me who else was in with you — the best I can offer is to make it quick and clean. Painless.’
Now it was Jouliern’s turn to look down, contemplating. But when he looked up again, his stare was icy.
‘Fuck you… that’s what I say.’ Then, twisting himself as he rose up without warning, he lunged head-first towards Bye-bye, his voice rising to a scream. ‘FUCK YOU!…FUCK Y-’
Bye-bye took him down with two shots before he’d moved a yard. Didn’t even get time to deliver his favourite words.
‘That was good,’ Malastra commented when Bye-bye returned and explained what had happened. ‘So he got his quick and painless death
Bye-bye shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Happened so quick, boss.’
Malastra held his stare on him a moment longer. All RAM and no hard-drive; but the advantage was that by the time of Bye-bye’s next cheeseburger, he’d have forgotten all about killing George Jouliern. He’d sleep easy that night.
‘Okay.’ Malastra waved him away, his gaze shifting back to his computer screen.
His eyes narrowed as the first image of the Bay Tree Casino floor came up on the screen. He’d have to find out who else Jouliern had been involved with by tracing who he’d met over the past year, and what might have
