Maybe it was, though? Perhaps they had found out that Breida had a new cellmate and wanted to confirm it was them? In that case, everything would be fine. They could see that progress was being made. Still, this didn’t feel like that.
Dionne typed in the number and waited. Every time they emailed with new contact details. Zoya had sniffed around, but there was no way to trace them, and anything they might do would be a risk. They would be looking out for it, and the warnings about non-compliance or trying to do anything “clever” had been brutally clear.
The call was answered and, despite herself, Dionne gasped, placing her hand over her mouth. As on previous calls, Assumpta and Bernadette were sitting in front of a blank white wall, which gave no indication of their location. They looked very different, though. Both of them had been worked over pretty good, and sported bruises of black and purple on their faces. Assumpta had her arm in a makeshift sling and Bernadette sat slumped to the side.
“Jesus!” said Dionne. “What have you done to them? We had an agreement!”
The voice that was always there spoke from behind the camera. It sounded infuriatingly calm. “Your friends tried to escape. We have been very clear on the consequences of any such actions. It was unsuccessful, obviously, but it resulted in substantial damages.”
Even in the state she was in, a smile played across Bernadette’s lips, and Dionne could see she was missing a tooth.
“Any repeat of this, and your two friends will be buried in an unmarked grave, but only after some very unpleasant experiences.”
“There’s no need to make threats,” said Dionne. “We are doing all we can. You’ll have Carlos Breida soon.”
“So you keep saying.”
“And I mean it. We are very close now, but if anything happens to our Sisters …”
The voice laughed. “Do you really think you are in a position to threaten me?”
“I wasn’t,” said Dionne. “I’m just saying, you are going to get what you want, so don’t do anything rash.”
“My patience is running out. You have two weeks to prove you can solve the problem and get us Breida, or I will get someone who can, and this will be over.”
“Like I said …”
The call ended abruptly.
“NO!”
Dionne kicked the table with her injured foot and yelped in pain. “Damn it!”
Bloody Bernadette, she could never let it lie. Always had to try to do things her own way. The lunatic was going to get herself and Assumpta killed.
They were going to get them out.
Dionne leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, tears stinging her eyes.
They were going to get them out.
They were going to get them out.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Cuts’s cell was far too crowded with five people in it. He, Harsh and Jesus sat on the lowest bunk, Bunny had to join Handy on the floor. In the middle was a stool acting as the card table. Cuts held up the deck of cards.
“Welcome, gentlemen, to Friday night poker.” He nodded at Bunny. “For the benefit of our new recruit, the game is five-card Texas hold ’em and one-eyed jacks are wild. The ten toothpicks you have been given represent one hundred dollars – ten dollars each. Don’t go splitting ’em, swap with someone who has two halves if you want to bet five dollars – Jesus, I’m looking at you.”
Jesus went to protest but Cuts spoke over him. He held up a pad.
“As always, it’s winner takes all. Currently, the totals are: I’m up fourteen thousand dollars, Harsh is up six hundred and forty, Jesus is down eighty-four hundred, Handy is down twenty-four thousand.”
Cuts noticed Bunny’s confused expression. “Don’t worry about the sums. There were other people in the game, but they moved on. Terrence owes fourteen thousand, which he swears he’s going to get now he’s out. Still, I reckon we got more chance of seeing the money Needle owes, and that poor bastard died two years ago. As always, the same house rules: we will have no calling down of the Lord’s vengeance in this cell.” He looked pointedly at Jesus again. “And, Handy, you so much as brush against it and you’re out for a month this time.”
Handy pulled a face. “C’mon, just deal the cards.”
Harsh twitched. “Goddamned degenerate scum-of-the-earth self-defiling reprobate.”
Handy waved his hand. “How come Harsh gets to do that shit?”
“He got a doctor’s note,” said Cuts.
“So do I,” said Handy.
“No one gives a rat’s ass, you fumbling fucknugget. It’s my goddamned cell. We can’t play in yours on account of you being a one-armed bandit of your Jockeys with heinous hygiene.”
“OK, enough,” said Cuts, dealing everybody their required two cards. “It’d be nice if we didn’t have to go through this every damn week.”
It had been a while since Bunny had played poker, but it wasn’t the toughest of games in the world. Handy, in the least surprising revelation ever, had terrible impulse control. As soon as he got anything like a decent hand, he would bet heavily. Jesus had an awful poker face, so you could all but see his cards from his reactions. It was so bad that Bunny was wondering if Jesus was trying to set him up. Then he remembered how much Jesus owed and realised that was unlikely. Cuts, unsurprisingly, was a cool, disciplined player, picking up pots at a steady rate.
The big surprise was Harsh. For obvious reasons, Bunny had not wanted to ask, but he was curious to discover how a blind man could play poker at all. It turned out he showed one of his cards to Cuts and one to Jesus, and they whispered what it was in his ear. You’d think with that disadvantage he couldn’t possibly win, but the man was a master of psychology. He managed to bluff Jesus out of a big pot despite the other man knowing one of his
