Without hesitation, Ritter told her.
When he’d finished, she said, ‘How close are you to him?’ meaning the FBI to Corelli.
‘ Donaldson and Kovaks are tasked to get him, as he already knows. It’s their main function at the moment. It’s difficult to say how close they are, but now that Hinksman’s in custody, I’d venture to tell him to watch out. It could be the beginning of the end, unless he’s careful.’
‘ It could be the beginning of the end for you too, Agent Ritter.’
‘ Don’t you even begin to threaten me, lady. You’re just a messenger, not a player, so do your job and messenge.’
She gave a short laugh, then got to her feet. ‘Don’t be surprised if those agents get a warning shot.’
‘ Then tell him not to be surprised if they bag his ass. They’re good very, very good.’
‘ And he’s even better. Your money will be in the usual place. By the way, he thanks you for the information about Whisper and his big mouth. Excuse me.’
She sidled past him, her crotch provocatively at the height of his nose and only inches away. He could smell her and she smelled excellent. Ritter held himself back from letting a hand brush her outer thigh. She walked away from him down the deck, her ass swaying like a cat-walk model.
Ritter tilted his head back and emptied his beer down his dry throat.
It was 8.30 p.m. British time. Cathy Diamond was seated behind a desk in a plush, well-appointed office, filing her already perfect nails with an emery board. She blew off the last of the shavings and was about to pick up her nail-polish when Reeve, flanked by two armed men, was led into the room.
He was past struggling and allowed everything to happen without trying to stop it. He knew he was doomed.
Two floors below, a supermarket belonging to Dakin had just finished trading for the day. The office staff had all gone home, as had the staff from the shopfloor. One or two members of the cleaning team were still there but, with the two hard men posted outside the door, there was little chance of an interruption.
Cathy looked at Reeve through half-closed eyes. He caught her gaze and thought, ‘Bitch. If I’m going down, so are you.’
The two men seated Reeve on a chair in the centre of the room prepared ready for his arrival.
His head lolled forwards, chin on chest. He didn’t have the strength or the desire to lift it and look around him. He just wanted to get it over with.
Cathy pressed the button on the intercom and said, ‘He’s here.’
A couple of seconds later the door to Dakin’s office opened and the man himself strutted out. He strode across to Reeve and lifted his head, careful not to get any blood on his hands from the wound at the back which was now crusted over.
‘ Hello Gerry, old mate,’ said Dakin.
‘ Lenny,’ was all Reeve could manage to say.
‘ Good, good,’ said Dakin soothingly. ‘At least you’re with us. I told them not to hit you too hard. My, though, that’s a nasty cut. Does it hurt, buddy?’
‘ You could say that,’ slurred Reeve.
‘ Well, that’s the name of the game, innit? You make a decision and you open a door. You have to accept what comes through it, doncha? Agree?’
Reeve’s head shook drunkenly, but he made no reply.
‘ Do you agree, Gerry?’ Dakin’s voice rose. Then he struck him across the face, putting his whole weight behind the blow. Reeve was lifted bodily off the chair and crashed to the floor. As he picked himself up he realised it wasn’t a carpet he’d fallen on, but a polythene sheet. The type used by painters and decorators to keep paint off the carpets. Or by executioners to keep blood off them.
Reeve groaned inwardly.
‘ Sit him back up,’ Dakin ordered his men.
They heaved him back into the chair.
Reeve rotated his jaw. It was already swelling up from the blow. ‘Now then Gerry, let’s have a tete-a-tete, eh?’
‘ I’ve nothing to say.’
Dakin guffawed. ‘Now that’s not altogether true, is it?’
Reeve looked contemptuously up at his tormentor, his breathing short, laboured. He remained defiant, said nothing.
‘ OK, have it your way,’ sniffed Dakin, ‘but I want to tell you this, Gerry’ — he wagged a finger as though he was giving a ticking-off to a schoolboy- ‘I know everything: you and Browney and that stupid American. In fact, you were all stupid. Doing the deal without me was bad enough, but crossing a Mafia godfather? Tut, tut. Now that strikes me as the very height of stupidity, Gerry. Men like Corelli don’t forgive — whereas I do have that capacity.’ He held his hands over his heart in an angelic gesture.
‘ Bollocks,’ spat Reeve. ‘It’s fuckin’ obvious you’ve made your mind up. You ain’t going to forgive me for nothing. Otherwise why the sheet, eh? You cunt.’
‘ Gerry, I’m affronted. I was going to paint the room.’ Dakin could hardly contain his own laughter.
‘ Yeah, with my fuckin’ brains. I’ve seen Lethal Weapon Two, as well,’ said Reeve. ‘So come on then, how did you know? I didn’t tell anyone, nor did Browney. It was a fuckin’ secret.’
Dakin sighed, shook his head sadly. ‘Pillow talk. It’s amazing what a man will tell a woman at his weakest moments, Rocket Man.’
Reeve closed his eyes in despair as it all dawned on him. Janine. The bitch.
‘ So now you know what it’s like to be double-crossed, don’t you?’
‘ Well, I do have one thing to say,’ Reeve spouted. ‘It’s about that slag there.’ He nodded in Cathy Diamond’s direction. With satisfaction he saw her sit upright. A worried look crossed her once-smug countenance.
‘ Browney screwed the arse off her — behind your back. They were laughing at you. Best blow job ever, he said.’ Reeve raised his eyebrows and gave a short laugh. ‘“Know what it’s like to be double-crossed, eh?’' He mimicked Dakin’s Scottish accent.
Dakin swallowed. His lips pursed. ‘Kill him.’
One of the gunmen stepped forwards, a silenced revolver in his hand.
It was over in a second. Reeve’s body lay sprawled out on the polythene, the back of his head virtually removed by the bullets, a sea of hot blood lapping around him.
Dakin regarded the body a few moments prior to turning slowly and walking towards Cathy Diamond. She sat rigid, terrified. She’d dropped her nail file and polish at Reeve’s revelations and her hands hadn’t moved since.
As Dakin approached her she shook her head desperately. ‘It’s not true, Lenny. It’s not true.’
He leaned across the desk, grabbed her by the hair and pounded her face repeatedly into the desk top, his anger overflowing. When he’d finished his frenzied assault her features had been mashed to a gory pulp. She was barely conscious, moaning. He let her head drop onto the desk.
He looked at the gunmen, pointed at her and cocked his thumb like the hammer of a gun, then left the room.
At the end of its journey the boat berthed back at Bayside. Ritter was last off, pausing long enough to ensure that no one was waiting to give him a reception. He watched the girl walk towards the shopping complex. He’d made no effort to speak to her further during the remainder of the trip, though he had watched her, wondering who she was, why and how she was involved with Corelli. Then he wondered how and why he himself was involved. Easy answer. Greed.
He glanced up at the replica of the Bounty moored further up the quay, the one used by MGM for the film Mutiny on the Bounty. Quite appropriate, he thought wryly.
Once on the quayside he made his way into Bayside, twenty-five thousand dollars richer. One step closer towards a prosperous retirement which he proposed to take as early as decency would allow. His fund consisted currently of an apartment in the Caymans, a small boat, and three hundred thousand dollars which was earning steady interest in the Cayman Islands. As soon as it reached the half-million mark he’d retire with a good pension, the interest on the capital, and hit the Caribbean. It was all worked out.
