Fear of the Fathers (33 page)

Grady strolled out into the road ramrod straight, with Jennings equally upright at his side. They crossed without incident.

“It's lucky you've put on so much weight,” said Jennings.

“Shut it, you cheeky mutha.”

Once in the car park they ducked down and weaved between vehicles until they finally made it to Grady's, a black Range Rover.

“It's a bit much for a hire car isn't it?” said Jennings.

“It's not a hire car, it belongs to a friend,” said Grady opening the boot. “Anyway just shut up and get in the fucking trunk will you!”

“What? In the boot?”

“Boot, trunk – whatever. Just get in.”

The dark space was warm if not entirely comfortable. New-car smell hung heavily in his nostrils. He curled himself up and tried to relax. Whatever his misgivings about travelling in the boot, it was a whole lot better than the back of a police van.

Grady reached over to the glove box, pulled out a cigar and lit it. He drove off casually. After pulling out into the street he was immediately faced with a road block. A policeman flagged him down and he opened the window.

“Evening officer,” he said, blowing billows of smoke up into the ether. “What can I do for you?”

“Might I ask you where you've just come from sir?”

“Sure. I've just been in the hospital. The wife gave birth about an hour ago.” He took a puff on his Havana. “Would you like a cigar? I've got plenty.”

The policeman stepped back to avoid the smoke. “No thank you, sir,” he said politely.

“Are you sure?” said Grady. “They're Cuban, the best you can buy, rolled between virgin's thighs.”

“I'm sure they're lovely, sir. Might I have a look in the back?”

“Sure,” said Grady. “Help yourself.”

The policeman opened the door and gave the back seat a perfunctory glance. There was a new baby seat and a few shopping bags but nothing suspicious.

“Do you want me to pop the trunk?” asked Grady.

“Pardon?” said the policeman.

“Do you want me to pop the trunk? Open the boot?”

The policeman looked back and saw a queue of cars building. “No sir, it's okay, you get on your way.”

Grady pulled off muttering “easy, easy, easy,” under his breath. In the boot, Jennings, who had been praying for the policeman to let them pass, let out a sigh. He hoped that would be their last entanglement with the law. With his adrenalin spent, he started to calm down and reflect on what had happened. Appleby dead; himself a fugitive – two hours ago they had been enjoying a quiet pre-weekend drink. What the hell was going on?

The journey was short. Grady opened the hatch and bright artificial light rushed into the boot causing Jennings to blink furiously. Grady helped him out. They were in an underground car park.

“Where exactly are we?” asked Jennings.

“The Dorchester,” said Grady. “Well, near it anyway. I've got some clothes in the back for you to change into. I thought you might need a disguise.” He produced a couple of plastic bags. “There you go. Slip those on and we can get you up to the room.”

Jennings looked inside the bags. The first one contained a black wig and large gold sunglasses; the second had a white jump-suit embroidered with sparkling blue sequins accompanied by a matching cape. “Are you having a laugh?” he said.

“Not at all,” said Grady, keeping a straight face. “I thought the Elvis look might suit you. But I can just hand you over to the police if you'd prefer?”

Jennings jumped into the back of the Range Rover and donned his outlandish apparel. “I'll get you back for this,” he grunted.

They passed through reception, Jennings garnering stares from guests and staff alike. “What a fucking stupid idea,” he said as they got in the elevator. “Talk about drawing attention to ourselves. Aren't I supposed to be blending in?”

“It's reverse psychology,” said Grady. “Nobody would suspect a fugitive to be dressed in that, would they?”

When they finally arrived at Grady's suite and shut the door behind them, Jennings felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He slumped down on a chair in the corner and got his friend to pour him a large whisky. “This place looks familiar,” he said, looking round at the rich wood-panelled walls.

“It's the same suite that Miles and Romano had last year,” said Grady. “I thought I'd go upmarket.”

“Have you won the state lottery?”

Grady laughed. “Of course not. To tell you the truth, I'm not even paying for it, Grant is.”

“What? Grant – as in Grant Romano? Why would he be paying for it? Is he here?”

“No he's not here, he's busy on the set of a film at the moment, but he does send his regards. I'll explain everything in a minute. You just relax and get some of this down your throat.” He handed him the whisky. “I guess you probably want a bath. I'm surprised your still alive after swimming through that toxic excuse for a waterway.”

Jennings downed his whisky and went to draw a bath. Grady supplied some fresh clothes and he took them with him, along with another drink.

The bathroom was a grand affair in smooth speckled white marble. Jennings added various complimentary oils and potions to his water and eased himself in. As he lay back and closed his eyes the last of the chill left his bones and he let out a contented murmur. Reaching blindly for his glass he picked it up and sipped some scotch, letting the day drain from his body. In spite of his situation, or maybe because of it, he emitted a quiet chuckle, which turned into a louder snigger, and then a full-blown maniacal laugh.

“Are you alright in there buddy?!” shouted Grady.

“Yeah, I'm fine! Couldn't be better!”

“Okay, but don't go doing anything stupid,” said Grady. “Crazy motherfucker,” he added under his breath.

Half an hour later, after a long scrub and soak, Jennings was refreshed and sitting with Grady in the main suite. He settled back and put his feet up on the sofa. “So then,” he said. “Tell me. How the hell did you manage to turn up when you did? I've gone through it in my head and I can't think of any reason, logical or illogical. I mean, it's not like you just appeared by luck and ad-libbed, you had everything prepared: escape route, clothes, the lot.”

“It's quite simple really,” said Grady. “Grant told me about it.”

“Grant told you?” said Jennings with raised eyebrows.

“Yes,” Grady nodded. “You know what he's like with all that dream shit. Anyway the other day he tells me that he's been dreaming about you, and not in the biblical sense. He tells me that he's worried about you and thinks something bad is going to happen. So I tell him I'll email you and make sure everything's alright. I didn't hear from you.”

“Sorry,” said Jennings. “I haven't checked my emails this week, I've been too busy.”

“It's probably good that you didn't,” said Grady. “You'd have told me you were okay and I wouldn't be here…Anyway yesterday Grant asks me if I've heard from you and I say no. He then goes on to tell me that his dream has become even more vivid and describes you coming out of the water and hiding in some trees, there's a load of cops about and there's a bridge nearby. We go on the Internet and look through bridges in and around London. As soon as he sees Westminster Bridge he shouts ‘that's it'.

“Of course by this time I'm getting nervous, so I call you at home and on your cell, but there's no answer from either. I leave messages on both.”

“That's odd,” said Jennings. “I haven't received anything on my mobile.”

“Oh well,” said Grady. “Like I said, it's probably for the best. Where did I get to…Oh yes, so that was yesterday, Thursday. This morning Grant calls me and he's in an even bigger state, says he's sure that something's going to happen tonight. He tells me he's booked me a first-class flight to Heathrow and a suite at the Dorchester. Says that I've got to come and help you. With his track record I can't ignore him. During the flight I formulate a plan based on what he's told me. And that's it really.”

“Well, there's not a lot I can say to that, except thank you. Thank you very much.”

“Don't mention it, I'm glad to have helped. I have to admit though, I was beginning to question my sanity. I'd been standing in those trees for three hours when this voice pops into my head telling me I'm fucking crazy. I mean, standing in the freezing cold in the middle of London, waiting for a man on the run, and all because some guy dreamt it? It's fucking madness.”

“It's beyond madness,” laughed Jennings. “But fuck it buddy, it's good to see you!”

Marvo looked out of the kitchen window and shook his head. Another wet morning had arrived, driving another nail into the coffin of his beautiful garden. If it continued much longer his meticulous planting system would be ruined entirely, leaving him with nothing but swamp for a backyard.

He scrambled his eggs thoughtfully, wondering if the new day would bring about a change in Annie's condition. He couldn't begin to imagine the amount of stress she would be under. To have her family killed was enough, but the reopening of old wounds on top had created an unstable and potentially catastrophic mixture. It would take all his knowledge and skill to keep her from exploding.

He plated up the eggs with some bacon and took them through to Kamal, along with a mug of coffee. “There you go my friend,” he said. “This should help build your strength.”

Kamal thanked him and took a mouthful of food. “Have you seen Annie this morning?” he asked.

“Not yet,” said Marvo. “But it's still quite early. I expect she'll be out ‘til at least ten with those pills I gave her. I haven't disturbed her because she needs as much sleep as she can get.”

“Of course,” agreed Kamal. “I am just worried. I am very fond of the girl. Whatever she has done in the past I do not believe her to be evil. She needs my help, of that I am certain. The universe has spared me to do this. I am sorry for the inconvenience to you though my friend.”

Marvo waved his hand dismissively. “Not at all. You can both stay here as long as you like. Anything you want me to do, just ask.”

“Thank you,” said Kamal. “I am forever in your debt.”

“I told you, don't mention it. To be honest it's good to have you around. The people I usually get in here aren't exactly – how should I put it – well, they aren't exactly my cup of tea. I've been thinking about becoming more selective with my clientele. The thing is, I don't really need the money any more, and I could do without the half-assed ‘gangsta' bollocks they spout. Criminals just aren't what they used to be, if you know what I mean.” Kamal nodded. “Anyway,” Marvo continued. “Listen to me prattling on, I'd better go upstairs and check on our little friend.”

The painkillers and antibiotics that Marvo had pumping through Kamal's system were effective, but they had also taken away his appetite somewhat. He chewed a few mouthfuls and forced them down as best he could, knowing that he needed solid sustenance to speed his recovery. It was an effort, but he was thankful that the nature of his injuries had not meant being fed through a drip.

As he ate he heard footsteps thundering down the stairs. Marvo appeared in the doorway, his face full of concern. “She's gone!” he puffed.

“Gone?” questioned Kamal.

“Yes, gone,” said Marvo, running to the front door. He looked outside and swore, then returned to Kamal. “She's taken your car,” he said.

“This is bad,” sighed Kamal.

“Maybe she's just popped out for a drive,” said Marvo hopefully.

“No,” said Kamal. “She has gone. She will not return.”

“I wouldn't imagine she'll get very far,” said Marvo. “I mean, she's got no money, and the police will have frozen her accounts.”

Kamal shook his head. “There is money in the car – thirty thousand pounds to be precise. It is my emergency fund.”

“Does she know about it?” asked Marvo.

“Yes, she does.”

“What do you think she's going to do?”

Kamal's face turned solemn. “I do not know. But she is angry and frightened, and in no state to be out there on her own. Whatever evil took her as a child may have returned. I fear something terrible is going to happen.”

Oggi studied the board carefully checking for the inevitable trap that his opponent would have set. He was about to take Stratton's queen and, if all went to plan, in two more moves it would be checkmate. He played the move in his head one more time, visualizing the resulting position and assuring himself that this time there would be no escape. Three months of ignominious defeat would be washed away in one glorious victory.

Stratton tried hard not to grin as Oggi took the bait. “Nice move,” he said. “Looks like I'm in trouble.”