money like Hannah and Chloe or most of them at college. I didn’t have privilege. All I had was debt. And she had the power to take that away.’
She shrugged. ‘It wasn’t a hard call to make. Besides, you know…’ She shrugged again, collecting herself, a cruel smile curving her lips. ‘It was supposed to be fun.’
I nodded to Del Rio and we walked out the front door. She’d learn soon enough what fun was.
Five minutes later and we watched from the front seats of my car, parked back a bit and across the road from her house.
Laura came out wearing a black parka, with the rucksack slung over her shoulder. She walked away from us without even looking around. Already high on whatever she had sampled from the media student’s stash, no doubt.
She got about twenty yards before DI Kirsty Webb stepped out of an unmarked police car, followed by a uniformed officer, and put her under arrest.
As busts went, it wasn’t the high-profile case that Kirsty had been looking to solve this weekend. But it probably gave her a degree of personal satisfaction as she cuffed Laura none too kindly and shoved her head down as she manoeuvred her into the back of the car. Like I said, Kirsty was fond of Chloe too.
And also like I said, I had made a call earlier. Laura Skelton might not have made it to a phone box but I had given my ex the heads-up. I had made one other phone call, too.
Del Rio looked at me from the passenger seat. ‘Ready?’ he asked.
I nodded, resisting the impulse to say I was born ready.
‘Let’s finish it,’ I said instead.
Chapter 109
The Enforcer could open triple-locked and bolted doors. The trunk of a BMW was no match. The lid flew open and an alarm started shrieking.
We were in the car park at the back of the Turk’s Head, up the road a half-mile or so from where we had watched Laura Skelton being driven away into a whole new world of misery.
Del Rio was leaning, in his normal casual style, against the brick wall of the pub, his gun held alongside his leg, watching the back exit.
A short while later a stocky man came through the door, some five foot nine inches tall, barrel-chested and with a neck about twice the size of mine. He was carrying a set of car keys in his hand.
‘The fuck you think you’re doing?’ he said to me, not quite believing what he was seeing. His eyes bulging like a pug’s on steroids. He pushed the key fob to turn the alarm off.
‘He said it was okay,’ I said and pointed to Del Rio who was now pointing his gun at the bull-necked man.
‘You know whose car that is?’
I nodded. ‘We were invited.’
The man looked at Del Rio, his hand twitching. The bulge under his jacket showed he was carrying. I guess he was weighing up the odds.
‘I wouldn’t,’ said Del Rio.
The man held his hands up and let Del Rio take his gun off him.
‘No one’s going to spank you for this,’ I said to the heavy. ‘We take full responsibility.’
He glared back at me and then smiled. It was not a pretty sight. ‘Fuck you,’ he said. ‘It’s your fucking funeral.’
I reached into the boot of Brendan Ferres’s BMW and pulled out the baseball bat that I was pretty sure I would find there.
Showtime.
Chapter 110
The Heavy walked into the pub, hands held high.
There were no customers as such. Ronnie Allen sat at his usual table with Brendan Ferres, the East Coast Mafiosi Sally Manzino and his glamorous companion.
Sitting next to Brendan Ferres was Rebecca Allen, Ronnie Allen’s daughter who was engaged to be married to the man whose baseball bat I was holding. She was every bit as large as life as I remembered her. She was dressed to kill in tight jeans, a low-cut peasant blouse, her full lips were painted blood-red and her big blue eyes sparkled beneath the mass of blonde hair that tumbled around her heart-shaped face. I think she rather liked the look of Del Rio. I was probably too much the urban sophisticate for her. She smiled and sat back to watch.
Brendan Ferres turned round to see what she was smiling at and nearly spat out the beer he was drinking. He put his pint down and pulled out a gun. He was fast, I’ll give him that much.
‘Tell the prick to drop the piece, Carter,’ he said. ‘Or I’m going to put one in you.’
I flashed a quick smile back at him. ‘I don’t think so, Brendan. You and me, we’re going to have a little dance.’
‘The fuck you talking about?’
Ronnie Allen tapped Brendan on the shoulder. ‘Give me the gun, Brendan.’
Ferres looked at him puzzled for a moment, and then shrugged. ‘Sure, boss. But shoot him in the gut – I’d like to see him wriggle a while before he dies.’
Ronnie Allen held the gun secure on the table. ‘I believe the gentleman asked you for a dance.’
Now Ferres looked really perplexed. ‘What’s going on, Ronnie?’
Rebecca Allen turned her gaze back on me. ‘Did you bring the item you mentioned on the phone?’ Her voice was low but sultry. She reminded me of the young Diana Dors. Marilyn Monroe on steroids, maybe.
I walked across to the table and tossed the DVD I had taken from the media student down in front of her.
Chapter 111
The DVD was titled Snake Charmer and the cover featured a naked Brendan Ferres and Laura Skelton.
They were engaging in an act not taught on the media-studies course.
Ferres looked across at it, the colour draining from his face. ‘What the fuck is that?’
‘Your contact at Chancellors, Brendan. Laura and the media student. Little sideline for him. He likes to make films. Specialist nature. Mail order.’ I smiled at him again. ‘Sometimes people don’t even know they are being filmed.’
Ferres shook his head. ‘There’s been some kind of mistake,’ he said to Ronnie Allen. His tongue darting nervously to lick his suddenly dry lips.
‘You told me you had nothing to do with his god-daughter being hurt,’ said Ronnie Allen, his voice soft.
‘It was an accident.’
‘Yeah, her head got in the way, scumbag,’ I said. ‘And you were just practising for a try-out with the New York Yankees.’
‘Shut the fuck up!’ Ferres turned to Ronnie Allen. ‘Why is this fuck even still here?’
‘Because I invited him,’ said Rebecca Allen. Her voice was warm, friendly, but her eyes had gone arctic cold.
‘That’s not me.’ Brendan gestured at the damning evidence.
‘You know anyone else who’s enough of a dipshit to get a tattoo of a snake doodled on his wing-wang?’ I
