The Club (26 page)

‘I have?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ Reaching for his drink, Tony nodded. ‘See, I’ve been walking around with this million-dollar bank draft in my pocket, thinking I was never gonna find a genuinely honest person to entrust it to. But you’ve shown me that the good guys do exist, so now I just gotta relax and wait for the right one to come along.’

Peering at him, Leonard frowned. ‘You’ve got a
million-dollar
banker’s draft?’

‘That what you guys call it, huh?’ Reaching into his pocket, Tony showed it to him. Shrugging, he put it back. ‘Not that it’s any use at the moment, mind.’

‘With respect,’ Leonard said worriedly, ‘I really don’t think you should be carrying it around like that.’

‘Sure as hell can’t leave it at the hotel.’

‘Wouldn’t it be safer in the bank?’

‘How?’ Tony looked him in the eye. ‘Do you know how much shit someone like me has to go through to open an account over here? I tried, but they want all kinds of paperwork that I haven’t got. And I can’t even use my old US one no more, ’cos I emptied it out to get this draft, thinking I’d easy find something to invest it in over here.’

‘There must be something you can do,’ Leonard murmured. ‘I had no idea you were talking about that kind of money. Why don’t I speak to my son?’

‘No point,’ Tony said, finishing his drink. ‘Without the paperwork to prove that these are legitimate funds from selling my club, no one will touch it.’

‘Can’t you contact whoever bought your club and get duplicates of the contracts?’ Leonard suggested helpfully.

Laughing softly, Tony shook his head. ‘That ain’t the way things work in my neck of the woods, Lenny. See, it turns out the guy I sold it to wasn’t quite as honest as you and me, and he only wanted it to pull some kind of insurance scam. Couple of weeks after he takes it off my hands,
poof
! Biggest fire
I
ever seen.’ Sighing now, he flapped his hands in a what-can-you-do gesture. ‘No contracts, no records, no nothing left to prove it was ever even there – or that
I
ever had anything to do with it when it was.’

‘My God,’ Leonard muttered. ‘How awful.’

‘So you can see my predicament,’ Tony said. ‘Not one of your fine banks will touch me – and I can’t say I blame ’em.’

‘There’s got to be a way around this.’ Leonard frowned. ‘A banker’s draft isn’t like a cheque. It’s as good as having the physical money in your hand.’

‘Yeah, well, soon as I find someone to invest it with who’s willing to put it in their account till I’m sorted, I’ll be rolling,’ Tony said. ‘Till then, it’s just gonna have to stay right where it is.’

‘That might not be so easy,’ Leonard pointed out. ‘You see, whoever takes it off your hands is going to have to prove where
they
got it from to be able to deposit it, and if no physical asset to that value had changed hands, or service been done to justify it, the bank would likely query it, which would lead them straight back to you.’

Looking at him, Tony’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘You got to be kidding me?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Leonard said sympathetically. ‘You see, there would still be the burden of proof, and I can’t imagine any legitimate businessman being willing to risk his own finances being investigated. A corrupt one might, but you don’t want to be involved with that kind of person, do you?’

‘No, I don’t,’ Tony muttered running a hand through his hair. ‘Oh, man, that’s a downer. What the hell am I supposed to do now?’

‘I really don’t know,’ Leonard said, feeling guilty for having burst Tony’s bubble. ‘But let me have a think about it, because I’ve plenty of colleagues with experience of this kind of thing.
Some
body ought to have a suggestion.’

‘Hey, no offence, but I don’t want no one knowing my business,’ Tony said quickly, his voice ringing with disappointment. ‘
You
I trust, but I wouldn’t trust no one else with that kind of information.’

‘Oh, God, no, I wouldn’t dream of telling anybody,’ Leonard assured him. ‘But leave it with me. I’ll do whatever I can.’

Glancing at Eddie, Tony gave him a sly half-smile. The big fat worm was wriggling nicely onto the hook. Now all they had to do was wait for him to bite himself in the ass, and they would be partway to a solution.

In his lounge later that night, when they had got home from the club and Avril had gone to her bed, Leonard sat on the couch with a glass of Scotch in his hand, his mind working overtime. He really wanted to help Tony out; not only because they were friends, but because Tony had done something for him tonight that money couldn’t buy: he’d given him back his self-respect.

Leonard had never admitted his real reasons for taking early retirement. But it hadn’t been for the sake of enjoying his last years without the pressures of politics, nor to spend more time with the family, to potter about in the garden, nor play golf, nor any of the other recreational excuses that many of the older guard had used upon standing down. It had been to escape the indignity of being shuffled further back into the political wastelands and the humiliation of knowing that the youngsters who were infiltrating the party had no clue who he was. He had not wanted to suffer the injustice of having to kowtow to the snot-nosed bastards as they rose through the ranks, nor had he looked forward to the indignity of having to ignore the condescending smirks and disrespectful remarks they made behind his back.

He hadn’t
wanted
to retire: he’d been forced to. And, in taking that step, he thought that he had killed off every last shred of hope of ever regaining his place in the public eye. But then he’d met Tony Allen, a man who had everything that Leonard craved: power, presence, and a firm foothold with the rich and famous.

With Tony’s help, Leonard had tonight found himself welcomed into the celebrity circle that he’d spent years trying to break into. His early moments in the press and on TV as a political poster boy and spokesman had given him a taste for it, but he’d only ever managed to achieve local renown – and that hadn’t been nearly enough. He’d wanted the general public to recognise him, and for the stars to think of his name when they organised their parties. And now that he’d finally got a foot in the door he was determined to stay there. But, for now, he was just visiting that world as Tony’s guest, and if Tony tired of him before he’d made his own mark there he had no doubt that he’d find himself cast out again in a heartbeat. So he needed to do something to guarantee that Tony would continue to want him around, and helping him out with his problem seemed the best bet. But how?

A light switched on in his head when his gaze came to rest on the Matisse hanging over the fireplace: the huge ugly old oil painting that his father had bought as an investment, and which his mother had liked so much that she’d made Leonard promise to let it hang there for all time – despite knowing how much he hated it.

My God, that’s it!
he thought, sitting bolt upright in his seat.

Getting up far more quickly than a man of his size should have been able to, Leonard went to the door and checked that Avril wasn’t moving about. Closing it quietly when he heard nothing, he rushed back to the couch and reached for the phone. He knew it was late but he was sure Tony wouldn’t mind.

‘I think I’ve got the answer,’ he said when Tony answered. ‘Remember we were talking about you finding somebody to deposit your money for you? Well, how about me?’

‘You?’ Tony replied cautiously. ‘I don’t know, Lenny. I thought you said it’d be too difficult – that the bank would still come back to me.’

‘Not necessarily,’ Leonard went on excitedly. ‘You see, it occurred to me that
I
could
earn
that money – if, for example, I decided to sell one of my assets.’

‘What, so you want me to buy something off of you?’

‘No, no. I wouldn’t actually have to sell anything, I could just
say
I had. You see, I have a number of rather valuable paintings in my possession, which the bank knows about because of the insurance. Now, if I were to produce a sales receipt for some of these, the bank would have no reason to doubt its legitimacy, because it’s an entirely feasible transaction. Then I could deposit your banker’s draft as “payment”, and when you’ve managed to open your own account I can simply transfer it.’

‘But wouldn’t they want to know why you were giving me the money back if I’d bought the paintings?’

‘Yes, but I would claim that I had received the payment in advance, and that the overseas buyer –
yourself
– had asked me to hold on to them until they were able to collect, which would explain my need to retain the insurance cover. Then I would simply claim to have changed my mind before the handover, and transfer the money as a refund.’

‘But I’m not really buying them?’ Tony asked.

‘No, but the bank would
think
you were,’ Leonard said patiently. ‘So when I transfer the money all they’ll need to know is that I’m repaying the person who paid me in the first place. Which would work out perfectly for you,’ he added, ‘because
you
would have the original receipt to show to
your
bank, proving that you had legitimately owned the asset that you were now, in effect, selling. Do you see?’

‘I think I do,’ Tony said, chuckling softly. ‘Man, I gotta say that’s some kind of genius. You got it all covered, don’t you?’

‘It just seemed so logical,’ Leonard replied modestly. ‘My father was always buying and selling, so there’s a family history of major financial transactions such as this. And no earthly reason, therefore, why it should raise any eyebrows if
I
were to take up the tradition.’

‘Well, I’m choked that you’d offer to do that for me,’ Tony said sincerely. ‘And it
would
solve my problem.’ Pausing then, as if something were troubling him, he said, ‘But, you know what, Lenny? I’m gonna suggest we sit on it for now, ’cos it’s a huge risk.’

‘It’s no risk to me,’ Leonard assured him, touched that Tony was being so considerate in light of how difficult his own situation was. ‘I’d still have my paintings, so I’ve nothing to lose. You’re the one who’d be taking a leap of faith by handing your money over.’

‘Hey, if there’s one thing that ain’t in question, it’s your honesty,’ Tony said without hesitation. ‘But I still want you to have a good think about it, ’cos I don’t want you committing yourself and then regretting it. If you want to go ahead after that, great. But if not, I’d totally understand.’

Leonard knew that he
would
go ahead, because there was simply no reason not to. But Tony was right to insist on him making an informed decision. Who in their right mind would want to hand over a million dollars to a foolhardy idiot who jumped headlong into things without thought?

‘Okay,’ Leonard said. ‘I’ll talk to you again when I’ve thought it through some more. But could I ask you to keep this quiet?’ he asked then, almost whispering now. ‘You see, I don’t want Avril to get wind of it. I, um, have a separate account, you see, which she knows nothing about.’

Smiling slyly at his end, Tony said, ‘She’ll never hear a thing from me, Lenny, you got my word on that. And if it makes you feel any better, I won’t even tell Melody. It’ll be just you, me, and Eddie. Agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ Leonard said, sighing with relief. The last thing he wanted was for Avril to find out. Not that it should, but if, God forbid, anything
were
to happen between depositing the money and repaying it, she would not only strip the flesh from his body as far as his house and assets were concerned, she would suck the marrow right out of his bones, too. And Tony’s money would be bound to get caught in the crossfire.

Back at the hotel, Tony put the phone down and relayed the conversation to Eddie with a grin on his face.

‘Sure we can trust him?’ Eddie asked, reaching for the vodka bottle to refill their glasses. ‘It’s a lot of dough to risk on a stranger.’

‘Yeah, well, we can’t do nothing with it if we don’t,’ Tony pointed out. ‘Anyway, he ain’t gonna fuck us about. He’s got too much to lose. He messes up, we take him and his lovely wife to pieces. Then we’ll go and take what’s ours, ’cos there’s gonna be a set of million-pound paintings sitting there with my name on ’em.’

‘Yeah, but he wants to transfer the money to your account after it’s sorted, and you can’t get one,’ Eddie reminded him.

‘Not yet,’ Tony conceded. ‘But I’m sure the fat boy will be happy to hold on to it until we can.’

‘You reckon?’ Eddie asked doubtfully. ‘Sounds to me like he’s only willing to do it because he thinks it’s a short-term deal. Can’t see him wanting to drag it out too long, or he’s gonna start getting jumpy about his paintings.’

‘Leave him to me,’ Tony said, chuckling softly. ‘I’m gonna have him licking the shit off of my shoes before too long – you watch.’ Raising his glass now, he said, ‘Nearly there, Ed.’

Raising his own glass, Eddie sipped at his drink, frowning thoughtfully. Leonard Drake might well be sincere, but there were too many potential holes in the plan for it to run as smoothly as he and Tony seemed to think it would.

Leonard’s wife, for starters.

Eddie was a people-watcher, and Avril Drake had something about her that told him she wasn’t the dumb little wife she made herself out to be. There was a keenness in her eyes that a lot of broads didn’t have and, like Eddie himself, she listened – hard – and was smart enough to keep her own mouth shut while she was taking everything in. And that was a rare and dangerous quality in a woman, because ladies like that were so unobtrusive it was easy to forget they were there, and before you knew it they had a shit-load of information on you that you didn’t even realise you’d given away – and they had sussed out exactly how to use it against you.

Tony would be wise to keep Melody well away from her, in Eddie’s opinion. Melody wasn’t stupid by any means, but she was a damn sight more stupid than Avril Drake, and if Avril wanted to get something out of her, Eddie had no doubt that she’d soon know everything that Melody knew. And, unlike Melody, who had swallowed Tony’s story without question, Avril would probably rip it to pieces and then spend as long as it took putting it all back together until she had the complete picture.