I took another swig from the water as Johnny recounted how Beatrix was the dominant partner in the lesbian relationship even though she wasn’t good-looking at all, and was, in his opinion, bullying Amanda into dropping him. ‘She’s got whips and chains and everything,’ he explained, shaking his head. ‘Apparently, her gaff’s like a fucking torture chamber. She’s even got a selection of butt plugs. How’s Amanda meant to resist?’ In the back of the van, I could hear movement as they shuffled about trying to make themselves comfortable.
A Land Cruiser pulled up outside the brothel. It looked familiar. The time was ten to midnight.
‘Are you listening, Max, or are you fucking ignoring me?’ Johnny whined.
Krys Holtz, Big Mick and Fitz stepped out, and the car did a U-turn and pulled away, driving past us. It looked like the driver was Slim Robbie, and I wondered if he’d be coming back.
‘I’m ignoring you, Johnny,’ I told him, watching as Krys and his men rang the buzzer, and a couple of seconds later went inside. Johnny hadn’t seen them, which suited me fine. If he’d had half an inkling that our job was to kidnap Krys Holtz, he would have been out of the van faster than Wile E. Coyote and running all the way back to Amanda, Delia, even Beatrix and her butt plugs, without stopping.
‘I thought you was a mate of mine,’ said Johnny, sounding put out, but I hardly heard him. My blood was up, and like a youthful Elvis I was ready to rock and roll.
I banged three times in quick succession on the van’s interior panel, then twice slowly, the signal that they’d arrived. Three more bangs came back to acknowledge that the message had been received and understood.
‘Sorry, Johnny, but we’ve got work to do. Start driving.’
Johnny pulled the Mercedes van away from the kerb and drove slowly along the road until he was about fifteen yards past the entrance to Heavenly Girls.
‘All right, stop here,’ I told him. ‘Double park.’
‘Can you tell me what’s going on now, Max?’
‘No.’
I banged on the interior panel twice to let them know we were in position. The back doors opened and I saw Tugger Lewis in the wing mirror as he walked up the steps to the entrance. It was on.
I pressed the stopwatch and watched it as the seconds ticked by, knowing that this was it, the big one. Just like the old days. All my senses fusing together into one single core of absolute concentration. It’s life or death, this. Nothing’s got higher stakes. You fuck up, you die. Your life ends, just like that. Kaput! You’re history. But nothing beats it either. Nothing ever beats the pure adrenalin rush, the intensity, the sheer joy of battle. I bet not even one of Amanda’s multiple orgasms comes close.
Thirty seconds. Forty. Johnny said something to me, but I couldn’t hear him. His voice was just interference, meaningless. Fifty seconds. Time to go. I banged the interior panel five times in quick succession, put the stopwatch in my pocket, and stepped out of the van. I pressed my mouth against the half-open window. ‘Stay here,’ I said. ‘Do not move.’
I turned away before he could answer and walked towards the front entrance of the brothel, Joe and Kalinski coming up beside me. Joe had a holdall over his shoulder. No-one spoke. As we walked, we took black balaclavas from the pockets of our regulation blue boiler suits, and pulled them over our heads. The rain was coming down in sheets and the street was empty. We didn’t look suspicious, we just looked like three normal kidnappers.
Kalinski pressed the buzzer and the door clicked open straight away. So Tugger had the reception area under control. Good. Part one had at least gone to plan. We stepped into the lift, and Joe put the holdall on the floor and took two automatic shotguns with sawn-off barrels out of it, handing one to Kalinski. He then pulled out a dozen spare shells which he stuck in one of the pockets of his boiler suit before replacing the holdall on his shoulder. We didn’t want to leave any evidence behind. While he was doing this, I produced the Glock, gave it a quick check, and chambered a round. We were ready.
The lift opened directly into the reception area and the three of us stepped out, weapons at the ready. Tugger was standing there in his suit, balaclava on, in front of a good-looking young receptionist with strawberry blonde hair. She had her hands flat down on the desk in front of her. Tugger was facing her but pointing his gun at two well-built doormen in dickie bows – one white, one black – both of whom had their hands arrow-straight above their heads, their faces suggesting there was no way they were going to be heroes. I couldn’t blame them. Being a hero can be a very overrated pastime. And you don’t even get paid.
The receptionist’s eyes widened when she saw us come striding in and she looked like she was going to scream. Tugger put a finger to his lips. ‘Now now, pet, don’t go causing a scene. No-one wants to hurt a pretty little thing like you. Just tell us which
