Danny swallowed, a frown narrowing his baby-blue eyes. “But you’re you, aren’t ya? You’re Acid Vanilla.”
“And who the hell is she? Because if you know, please tell me. I’m serious. All I know is Acid Vanilla is the ghost of a concept that doesn’t make sense in normal society. She doesn’t fit in anywhere. Don’t you see? I’m nothing.” She stopped, gasped for air. “You know, my real name, my birth name, is Alice Vandella. Little innocent Alice. What would she think of all this?”
“Alice. She sounds nice.”
“Oh yeah, real nice. Up until she wasn’t.” She glared into his eyes, defying him to look away. “I grew up with a single mother who did everything and anything she could to support us. And yes, I mean anything. After all she went through for me. After all she did. To be murdered because of me… I made her a promise that day that I wouldn’t let these bastards get away with it. But, oh look, I let Magpie get away and now she’s in the wind. Maybe for good. Once again I’ve failed my mum, and you have no idea how incredibly shitty that feels. So take your positive thinking and motivational bullshit and stick it up your arse. I’m done. I can’t help you. I can’t help anyone.”
She sank back onto the bed, exhausted, sitting with her back to him and facing the window. A moment went by. And another. She could sense Danny’s eyes boring into her. The tension in the room showed no sign of abating.
“I do know how that feels,” he said. So softly she hardly heard him.
“You know how what feels?”
“Letting your mum down, thinking you’ve failed her.”
“Oh?” It wasn’t the response she’d expected. She shifted along as he sat next to her on the bed, both looking out into the inky nothingness of the midnight sky.
“I haven’t told ya the full story,” he said with a sigh. “About the eggs, and the money, and why I need it.”
He looked at her but she didn’t flinch. No doubt there was more bullshit on its way, and from someone she’d almost trusted.
“Go on then,” she told him. “Spill.”
Forty-One
Danny picked at a callus on his palm with his thumbnail, knowing he had to tell her the full story. No more games. They were at zero hour, the last resort, and if he didn’t convince her to help him, it was all over. Literally. All of it.
“The thing is,” he started. “I actually owe Petre Kaminski quite a large sum of money. Selling him the eggs was a way of covering those debts.”
“How much?”
He sucked back a sharp breath. “Over six hundred thousand. I know, I know… See, we were supposed to go in together on a deal with this guy I’d met in Switzerland. Vases, made from Nazi gold. I vouched for the guy and he ended up screwing us over. Kaminski was not happy. That’s why I’ve been in Spain the last half year. On the run.” He sat upright, puffing his chest out as he did. “When I saw the Fabergé eggs it was like a moment, ya know, I saw a solution. Kaminski loves the old antiquities. I rang him and told him I’d steal them if we could come to some mutual arrangement. And now he wants those eggs. Really wants them. To the point if I don’t get them… Well, I’m sure you can imagine.”
“Hang on,” Acid said. “You said you were sharing the profits of these eggs with me.”
His hand hovered above hers. “Sure, and I will. Only, it might not be as much as I first mentioned after Kaminski has collected his debt. Plus interest. There’ll still be plenty of green left over though. More than a million each for the two of us. I swear.”
Acid got to her feet. “So let me get this straight. If he doesn’t get the eggs, you can’t pay your debt and he kills you. But by stealing the eggs, Delgado puts a price on your head. Am I missing something? Why not stay hidden, change your identity?”
“I can’t stay in Spain. I need that money.”
“For Antigua?”
“For my mum.” She stopped pacing to look at him, but he couldn’t meet her eye. “That’s what I meant when I said I know how you feel. She’s sick, ya see. Early onset dementia, the docs call it. It’s totally shite, she’s only in her fifties. I mean she’s all right at present, sort of, she gets confused but she knows who I am. But it’s only going to get worse.”
Acid snorted and he looked up.
“My mum had the same thing,” she said. “It does get worse. A lot worse.”
“I see. Right.” He went back to picking at the callus on his palm. “I want the best care available for her. And am happy to throw as much money at it as I can. And yes, I’d love to take her to Antigua. Let her live out her remaining time somewhere hot. Somewhere peaceful. Away from all the bullshit and strife – most of which I’ve caused, admittedly, over the years.”
Acid snorted a second time. “This could be me talking.”
“Please, Acid, help me get Kaminski off my back so I can go home. To be with her. I need those eggs.”
“What about your uncle, can’t he help? With money? Or getting this Kaminski guy to back off?”
“Like I said before, he’s not a part
