The gun was withdrawn. He glanced briefly at the two men who’d brought him here and said, ‘No trouble promise.’ He felt obliged to put it into plain English because if the two goons were connected to Felicity’s new husband, they would have no qualms in filling him full of lead then dumping his concrete-encased body in the foundations of a new apartment block somewhere in the city.
He turned to face Felicity. ‘What the hell d’you want?’
She shooed the men away. ‘I’ll scream if he touches me,’ she told them, ‘then you two boys come runnin’, okay?’
When they were alone she tiptoed up to Kruger and kissed him on the lips. What began as a friendly peck suddenly developed into a passionate embrace. She ran her arms around his neck, yanked him towards her, forced her tongue into his mouth and ground her hot sex into his groin.
Despite himself, he responded… until common sense prevailed. He eased her away.
‘ Hey, what about hubby? If he strolls in here, I’m dead meat.’
‘ Aw, fuck him,’ she said dismissively.
Which was not a sentiment Kruger shared. Mario Bussola was a very feared and respected individual in Florida’s low-life, widely recognised to be the number one mobster in the state following the blood-soaked demise of Tony Corelli a couple of years before, who was then tops.
Bussola, it was rumoured, had people put to death for far less contentious issues than French-kissing his wife.
Joe Lilton rolled slowly over onto his back. He held his breath and listened. Next to him in bed lay his wife, Ruth. She was breathing heavily in a very deep sleep induced by several large glasses of wine and a couple of strong sleeping pills. ‘The worry’s over now,’ Joe had cajoled her earlier on their return from hospital. ‘Claire’s back home. You can relax, chill out. You deserve a good night’s rest. After all, you haven’t slept a wink for the last two what with worrying about Claire. Come on, off to bed now. Tomorrow we’ll get everything sorted out.’
Once Ruth had supervised a hot bath for Claire, some supper and tucked her up for the night, she had been easy to manipulate by Joe. She had willingly supped the wine, almost a full bottle of Hock; easy to drink, cheap and extremely effective.
Joe had had a few stiff brandies himself, whilst acting the concerned husband and father.
When he’d suggested sleeping tablets and shown Ruth the box of Nitrazepam, there had been no resistance. She was already woozy as her jaded body had been an easy target for the alcohol.
It didn’t take long for the combination to take effect. Less than fifteen minutes later, Joe steered. her to bed, helped her undress and eased her under the covers. After checking the hotel and briefly chatting to the night porter, Joe had also gone to bed in the family annexe at the rear of the ground floor.
When he entered the bedroom, a bedside light was still on, but Ruth was fast asleep. Just to make certain, Joe had purposely crashed round the room, deliberately dropping things.
Ruth did not even flinch.
As he climbed in next to her, naked, Joe had smiled dangerously to himself. From past experience he knew she would be out of it for at least ten hours. Not even a bomb could have woken her. Joe had free reign.
Just to be on the safe side, he prodded her. There was no reaction. Ruth was as good as dead.
He lay by her side for a few more minutes, slightly concerned when she shifted, though all she did was flip over onto her back, mutter something incomprehensible, open her mouth and commence to snore gently.
Joe even closed her mouth with the tip of his forefinger and then let her jaw drop open again. She stayed asleep. A feeling of elation zipped through him, coupled with a tight feeling in his throat.
He reached down and grabbed his penis. It was already rock hard with expectation. He drew back the foreskin and squeezed his damp glans, drawing a stuttering breath.
Carefully he peeled the duvet off himself, and sat up on the edge of the bed. The hardness of his curved erection pressed into his stomach. He stroked the length of it proudly and caressed his balls with his fingertips.
He was feeling good. Alive. He stood up. It swayed in front of him. It was huge, throbbing urgently. She would love every painful inch of it.
He glided out of the bedroom, his feet creeping along the deep carpet. Moments later he was at the far end of the hallway outside Claire’s bedroom. He pushed the door open.
Claire’s teddy-bear nightlight glowed in the darkness, casting enough of a dim glow to allow Joe’s eyes to see into the room. Claire’s petite figure was curled up in a ball underneath the quilt. She moved when Joe opened the door, lifting her head to see.
She had not been asleep, but had been ready, waiting fearfully for this moment.
‘ Claire, you’re awake,’ Joe whispered, as if surprised. ‘I was checking to see if you were okay, darling.’
‘ I am, so go away please.’ Her voice trembled.
Joe stepped into the room, clicking the door closed behind him.
Claire stiffened and drew the cover up to her chin. Joe took two steps across the room to the bed and settled down on the edge of it. Claire emitted a little whimper of fright.
‘ Its okay, sweetheart,’ he reassured her. He reached over and stroked her hair. ‘It’s okay, don’t worry.’ The whimper metamorphosed into a despairing groan. ‘Now be quiet, honey… come on, don’t be afraid… you know you like it as much as I do. Give me your hand.’ She drew away from him, but he grabbed her with great strength. ‘That’s it, come on… touch me here — and don’t forget, it’s our little secret, so let’s make sure we don’t wake your mummy up.’
This was the first time Kruger had been into one of the homes Felicity shared with Bussola. It was the one on Ocean Drive, South Beach, facing the Atlantic. The other two houses were too far away for Kruger to have been driven there in such a short space of time.
Had he been less inclined towards wringing her neck, Kruger might have enjoyed the Grand Tour of the house that Felicity gave him. Impressed to see what crime could buy in terms of material possessions. As it was, the whole shooting match passed him by; even the less-than-subtle pause in one of the bedrooms when Felicity’s body language screamed out the word ‘screw’. When he didn’t respond to the invitation she gave him a look like he was a piece of shit and carried on with the tour.
He dutifully followed, brooding intensely, aware that the two goons were lurking in the background shadows, ready to pounce should Felicity give the signal.
Eventually they sat in a huge conservatory overlooking the outdoor pool (there was an indoor one, naturally). She poured him a very colourful drink which tasted like paraffin.
‘ Why the hell have you dragged me out here?’ he wanted to know.
‘ You’ve been avoiding me, Stevie.’
‘ I haven’t. I’ve just not got round to returning your calls.’
‘ Same as,’ she said childishly.
‘ And anyway, what earthly reason would I have to call you, Liss? As far as I’m aware, our marital business has been finalised. You stung me for more than you deserved, I paid up, we’re even, you married Bussola.’
‘ Aw, it’s not about money,’ she said with a flutter of her hand. ‘I got more money now than I ever had in my life. I’m rollin’ in the stuff.’
‘ In that case,’ Kruger cut in, not one to miss a chance, ‘how ‘bout giving me back that quarter of a mill your shyster lawyer screwed outta me?’
Felicity snorted dismissively. ‘Spent it. Every last godamned cent — as a gesture to our short, momentarily sweet, then very sour marriage.’
‘ That figures,’ Kruger responded with a bitter tone, recalling a marriage that had been pretty much a shambles from day one.
They had met at a point in time when both of them had been at a low ebb in their lives. Kruger was in a deep rough patch following the disappearance of his second wife with some creep of a Disney executive in Orlando. Kruger felt he had been struck by lightning because he had been truly, madly, passionately in love with the woman, worshipped the ground she glided over, even. For all that, she had dumped him with all the ceremony of taking the trash out, leaving a gaping hole in his heart.
His response had been to throw himself into his work in a big way. Often he worked fourteen hours per day:
