Dead Pretty (27 page)

‘Do you like Mexico?' Stellachi asked.

Hakim shrugged.

‘Of course, what would you know of it? Maybe we'll go there after this. Yucatan, it will be hot, and empty. You will have to be careful, Hakim, lots of nice boys there. I might exchange you.'

Hakim would not mind this at all. At times like these, he thought that even death would be a release. He had began to imagine Stellachi dead, that a man such as this Richards would come along, and be stronger than him. Sometimes he imagined killing Stellachi himself, but chased the thoughts from his mind, so alarming were they. Another phone rang. Stellachi clicked his fingers and Hakim ran to answer it. It was Adam, the huge man that Stellachi often used. The man was frightened, something in his voice that Hakim hadn't heard before. Stellachi took the phone from him.

‘Well?'

‘He's gone.'

‘Tell me.'

‘The Englishman. I went to check on him, like you said. He was gone. Those old doors had been forced open. Smashed with something hard.'

‘As you will be.'

Adam went into a flood of Albanian which Stellachi could not follow and did not want to.

‘Shut up. Adam, you will find him. He has no money, clothes, no anything. You
will
find him, won't you?'

Stellachi put down the phone in the middle of Adam's assurances. They wouldn't find him, this Richards was too good, and he, Stellachi, would not have to, for the man would come looking for him again. What else could he do? Stellachi was not displeased, this made it more interesting.

‘Hakim,' Stellachi shouted, his voice vibrant and full of hope, ‘I think we will have a guest soon. We must make him welcome.'

Stellachi hummed an old tune to himself, something he'd heard the gypsies play when they came to the village. He opened the draw which contained his personal armoury. He fingered his favourite, the 9mm Luger, an ancient piece, but it had never let him down and he liked its history. Each chip in its metal casing told a story. Alongside two others was the seven-inch dagger Agani had given him. Its ivory handle matched his shirt, good workmanship, for Albania. Stellachi pressed it against his chest, felt its chill through his shirt. He'd always been a knife man, it was much more intimate, and satisfying. No need for noisy explosions and mess. He'd like to use it on Richards. Stellachi held it up against the light, and flicked patterns at Hakim's face. The Arab boy's wide eyes tried to hide, it was what they did best. His way of confirming his place in the order of things.

‘Hakim, I'm hungry. Go across to Wan Sing's and get my usual, but order enough for three. And pour me a glass of the driest Amontillado before you go. The special bottle.'

‘For three?'

‘Yes, three.'

Hakim was slow to obey.

‘Why do you hesitate? Ah, you think this Richards might be out there, the bogeyman waiting for you, eh? Don't worry,
you
are not wanted by him, otherwise you would be already dead.'

Stellachi snapped his fingers again. He could do this so strongly it always reminded Hakim of a whip cracking. As Hakim left, Stellachi savoured the pale sherry, moving it with his tongue around his teeth and pressing it into the hollows of his mouth before he swallowed. There goes my bait, he thought.

Mark
was
in Chinatown, and the first thing he saw was a pyramid of glazed ducks, piled high in a restaurant's window. Mark couldn't believe he could feel hunger at a time like this, but he did, and his stomach lurched with the many smells that surrounded him. Feeling around his pockets to see if any coins had been left he found one or two euros, not much good for anything, other than a cup of coffee.

He kept to the shadows as much as possible. Plenty of others did the same in this part of town. They'd taken his jacket and his shirt was stained and bloody. He touched his head gingerly. He'd had worse. Stellachi has just wanted to quiet him down, that bastard didn't want him banged up too much. Not yet. Mark flexed his hands, they still moved well enough but his nails were smashed, and all his fingertips bloody.

They'd be checking up on him regularly, until Stellachi came for him. He might have just a few minutes of surprise left. He looked around to get his bearings, and found he was only a few hundred yards from Stellachi's place. Mark hardly dared think this was a piece of luck.

Mark bought a takeaway coffee with his coins, then faded back into a side alley. The coffee was too hot, but he drank it straight away, letting it scald his throat. He needed its support, for it was a cold night to be standing in the midst of your enemies in a bloodied shirt. A prostitute started to approach him, then saw his state and turned away.

Mark couldn't remember what fucking day it was, or how long it had been now, Post Lena. He couldn't even remember Julie's mobile number. Maybe that was just as well, because he might be tempted to phone her on reverse charge. For them to exchange voices one last time. That would be pathetic, and a final dagger into her heart.

The closer Mark got to Stellachi's place, the more the need for care. Maybe Stellachi wouldn't be there and he could wait for him. Again. Maybe pigs flew to the moon on pink pork wings.

He got to the rear of the club without trouble. The music that pounded in the front was muffled here, just the low thud of the bass, and the suggestion of movement from the dancers inside. From the glimpse of the club he'd had coming down Stellachi's stairs, Mark couldn't understand how the man could live here. He should be over the other side of town, amongst the fine town-houses and tulips, but there was no reason why anything about Stellachi should make sense. This made trying to second-guess his actions difficult. Back on the estate, in the closed-in valley, Mark had been Stellachi, the unpredictable
Psycho Eyes
, but that counted for little here.

Mark was on the fire escape again. He couldn't believe he'd got this far. All the luck he'd never had in his life was coming now. Maybe they didn't know he was out yet. Stellachi should have killed him straight off. His mistake.

There was a noise at the entrance to the alleyway and Mark froze against the wall. A couple of kids staggered into sight, the boy pawing at the girl with drunken hands, she half pushing him away, half pulling him onto her. All Mark needed. The girl saw his outline and said something to her boyfriend.

‘What's your game, mate?' rang out at him, in best south London tones.

Mark would have to go to plan B, the one that didn't exist.

‘Just having a piss,' Mark answered, in his best valley voice.

He abandoned the fire escape idea, and walked past the startled couple, expecting Adam and his friend to appear at any moment. They didn't, but Hakim did. Walking past the alleyway entrance with a carrier bag of food in his hand. Instant action came from instant decisions and Mark made one. He stepped up besides Hakim pressing a finger against his neck then digging it in.

‘Good, you've got food. I could use some,' Mark said.

Hakim began to squirm.

‘Keep walking. If you try anything I'll put a bullet into your brain.'

They were outside the club. A doorman was fussing with a few customers in the street and they were past him and up the stairs in seconds. This was like the raid on Agani's penthouse all over again. Easy. Willing him on. They stopped outside Stellachi's door. Old wood laced with a fancy ironwork design. It looked like it could withstand a siege, but it didn't have a spy hole. Stellachi didn't think he needed one.

‘Is he here?' Mark whispered, digging his finger in harder.

‘No, he's out looking for you. They know you got away, somehow.'

‘No, I don't think so, Hakim. Eating all this yourself, are you?'

Mark gave the large bag a nudge with his knee. It smelt good and Mark took it from the boy. It would have to do as a weapon.
Deadly killer overcome with flying sweet and sour, hah hah.
He was going from the desperate to the bizarre, but he
was
still going.

Mark bent down to Hakim's level and whispered in his ear.

‘If you want to live, do exactly as I say. Open the door slowly, walk in, and tell that bastard you are back. If you do it calmly, you can fuck off back down the stairs.'

The English guy was a madman, Hakim thought, but then they all were, all the men he'd come into contact with through Stellachi were the same. Powerful, violent men, all twisted and looking to control and to hurt. Maybe this was what being powerful meant.

Hakim opened the door and Mark stepped in with him. It was almost dark, just a few red candles in silver holders burning on a table. The place reeked of incense and Mark felt Hakim tense in his grasp. There was slight movement to his right. Stellachi whispered out of the darkness.

‘My gun is six inches from your head. Don't make me use it. There's been enough mess here from you. You can give the food back to Hakim now. It's good to see you again, my friend.'

Mark could not say he was surprised, not after the week he'd had. Stellachi moved in front of him, and switched on a main light. Mark blinked, and saw Lena's killer again, standing the same height as him, but a bit leaner, and as sharply dressed as a knife. He felt Stellachi's eyes all over him, and there was just the hint of a smile on the man's face as he checked out Mark's state. Stellachi held a Luger in his hand – Mark recognised it from all the old films he'd seen.

‘Come in,' Stellachi said. ‘How do they say it in Spain, ‘
mi casa es su casa
.'

He also said something to Hakim and the boy took the food into the kitchen. A table had already been laid amongst the candles.

‘Do you like the fragrances?' Stellachi said. ‘I am burning two,
Khamriah
, Hakim's favourite, and
Misk Al Ameer
, my choice. They combine so sweetly, like lovers.'

They reminded Mark of cheap hairdresser's salons in the valley.

Stellachi was casual and on full alert at the same time. He had about seven years on Mark but was probably at his physical peak.

‘So, here we are. Amongst us, you have become a minor celebrity, Mark, and I want to thank you for disposing of that useless trash in London. Much appreciated, but unfortunate. These matters always lead elsewhere, and for you, they have led to me.'

Stellachi went through his fingers routine and Hakim appeared with a tray of drinks, shaking it so much that the glass of beer had spilled some of its froth.

‘Careful, Hakim, we don't want our guest to think we are untidy, eh? Keep the food warm, I'll tell you when we are ready. I took the liberty of ordering for you, Mark. I knew you would be along.' Stellachi took up his glass. ‘I thought you'd prefer beer,' he murmured.

Mark drank the beer. He had gone over this moment so many times in his head that a bullet was no longer anticipated. It was already in him.

‘Cheers,' Mark said.

Each man appraised the other at eye-level. Mark thought about throwing the glass in Stellachi's face, and charging him, but he could never be fast enough. Not with this man.

‘Can I sit down?' Mark asked.

Stellachi gestured to the sofa with his left hand and Mark sat next to the stain.

‘Yes, unpleasant, isn't it? You gave Hakim quite a fright.'

Stellachi sat down at the table and made a point of putting the Luger down on it. Maybe he's a frustrated cowboy, Mark thought, certainly the man liked a bit of show, to play games and he was totally confident.

‘So,' Stellachi said, ‘here we are. Less than a week ago you had a woman and we had four men in England. Now they are all gone. A pity.'

Mark could see Stellachi entering the flat in London. Lena would have thought it was him, coming home early. She would have run to meet him, in that excited, girlish way of hers. He felt his hands tightening, forming fists. He worked hand to control his right hand, or it would have shattered the glass it held. Stellachi nodded and said something in another language. He seemed to be talking to himself, his eyes half shut, but Mark knew they saw everything.

‘Yes, hate has you in its hold,' Stellachi said. ‘A powerful emotion, very admirable, but you knew about it before, didn't you? Before Lena. It's always been in you, I can smell it. I know that smell. A man like you should work for us,' Stellachi continued. ‘No, I'm not going to make you an offer, too much has happened for that, and the woman would always be between us, but I do want to talk about these.'

Stellachi tapped the copied pages of the notebook. He kept his left hand close to the Luger. He's a southpaw, Mark thought, or maybe two-handed, which didn't make things easier. Stellachi's voice changed, it became colder, and raised in pitch.

‘Did you really think you could bargain with this? That it would save you?'

Mark drank the beer as coolly as he could and tried to smile a little. This man liked to talk. He must have talked to a lot of people he'd killed.

Your name is there, this place, all the slime you deal with,' Mark said.

‘Do you think a stupid policeman could understand this?'

‘If he's pointed in the right direction, and I've made sure he will be.'

‘So.'

Stellachi's hand curled around the gun, the skull's head ring on his little finger catching the candlelight, then he relaxed again. This man doesn't know what he's going to do himself, Mark thought. That makes two of us.

‘Hakim,' Stellachi said, ‘you can serve the food now.'

Mark sat opposite Stellachi at the black table, the Luger just on Stellachi's side of no-man's land. He's giving me the sniff of a chance, Mark thought, encouraging me to go for it. Mark found that he could eat, within a few feet of Lena's killer. It was good food and his stomach welcomed it, as he concentrated on his next move. Each moment was evaluated, every minute he weighed up the chances of an attack. This was a matter of wills. A game for killers.