6
I gave Giuseppe a shake. ‘Get us some details so we can transfer some money to you, OK?’
Stefan’s cushion-covered head lolled against Sam’s arms as Crucial walked backwards with his feet.
‘Make it fast, Nick. We’ve got to get out of here.’
I shook Giuseppe’s leg. ‘Listen, mate, get with it.’
His face crinkled into a papa smile. ‘My sister. I send her money every month.’
‘Come on, then.’ I dragged him up. ‘Let’s send her some more.’
We walked along the marble corridor.
‘I’m going to sort everything out for you, Mr Nick.’ Giuseppe was getting with the programme. ‘I’ll destroy Mr Stefan’s passport, clean everything up, make it look like he’s left on a trip. Then I’ll play stupid. In a week’s time, I’ll leave my resignation note and go.’
We were at the staircase down to the kitchen. ‘Mr Nick, I have a confession to make.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I’ve always known about these poor people in Africa, and the way Mr Stefan let them be treated. I used to listen to him talking to the Chinese. They all said it didn’t matter how many people died, so long as the ore was coming out of the ground . . .’
I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it, mate. We’ve all got to make a living.’
We reached the basement and I picked up my holdall.
Giuseppe opened a drawer and pulled out a large brown Jiffy-bag. He grinned from ear to ear. ‘Your mail, Mr Nick. I only opened them in case they were important.’
I took the Jiffy and jammed it under my arm. A little light reading for later, maybe. ‘As soon as we get the money, Giuseppe, so do you. And don’t lose any sleep about the police. It’s a Swiss account. Private and numbered. No way will Massimo or anyone else ever give out details.’
He handed it to me and I turned to leave. There was no point giving it the big goodbye. We were off. We had other things to do.
‘Mr Nick, wait – your gift.’ He hurried back to the huge stainless-steel fridge and returned with a cheese- and-pickle ciabatta in a plastic bag. He handed it over with both hands, like he was presenting a medal. ‘If you ever see Miss Silke, please say hello from me.’
7
We drove towards the town in Standish’s blue saloon. Crucial was at the wheel, Sam beside him.
We passed a parked-up red Punto. Crucial pointed. ‘Our hire car. We’ll need to pick it up as soon as we sort this shit out. I don’t want a ticket.’ He thought that was very funny.
Sam turned and leaned back to face me. ‘Everything squared away with Giuseppe?’
‘Yep.’ I ripped open the Jiffy-bag.
‘What’s the score now? It’s your neighbourhood.’
‘We’ll wait until it’s dark enough to dump the shit-heads in the lake. I’m sure they’ll find a few Mafia boys at the bottom to make friends with. We burn the car out – no DNA – then take yours back to Zurich and I say goodbye.’
‘You sure you don’t want to come with us?’
‘Sure.’
‘Then have some of this cash. You’ll need something to set you up.’
I sat back and laughed as I ripped open the Jiffy-bag. ‘What the fuck do you think I was doing this for? Just to fund you two dickheads?’
Crucial laughed away and I could see
‘I reckon five hundred apiece for me and Giuseppe, and two mill each for you and Mercy Flight. How’s that sound?’
We drove along the palm-shaded Riva Albertolli. Everything felt all right. It felt complete, sorted out.
But there was still a question Sam wanted an answer to as much as I did. ‘Come on, then, what’s in that envelope?’
I pulled out several sheets of paper. I had a quick leaf through and almost fell into the footwell.
The first three were speeding tickets from the London cameras.
The fourth was a fine for not paying the congestion charge.
And the rest were parking tickets I’d been getting every day for the fucking moped at Lugano station.
I threw them on to the seat next to the cheese and Branston and started to laugh.
