The Rain-Soaked Bride (2 page)

The room is ludicrously large, filled with old-fashioned opulence. The sort of decadent soft furnishings that ooze their comfort at you. The paintings on the walls are contrastingly modern, explosions of colour and form, mood rather than content.

Toby quickly drags the two bodies out of immediate view. He hopes that he’ll be long gone before anyone else comes up here, but if he’s wrong about that then it would be better were his handiwork not obvious the moment the lift doors opened. He might need every second he can get in order to react.

As he’s dropping the heavier of the two men behind a sofa there is the flush of a toilet and the sliding door of the bathroom peels back to reveal a third man tucking a pink silk shirt into the waistband of his showy suit pants.

He stares at Toby who is already running towards him. The man looks to the left to where he’s left his gun on a glass-topped table. He is turning towards it as Toby hits him, sending them both through the doorway and into the bathroom.

Toby isn’t so lucky this time. The gangster keeps his balance, pushing back and shoving him against the floating sink which smacks him in the small of the back, hitting the concealed .45 with a loud crack and sending a jolt of pain down his legs.

Toby swings two punches. The gangster avoids the first and nearly the second, it glances off the side of his head with insufficient force to do any good. Toby grips the man’s shaven head as he’s lifted up and backwards, then slammed down onto the sink which shatters beneath his weight.

As he falls, a shard of glass cuts into his back and he can’t restrain a cry of pain.

In the car outside, Shining spills his coffee but he knows better than to say anything. Toby needs to concentrate, the panicked questions of his superior won’t help.

Toby lets himself go limp, then lifts up his legs and kicks out, sending his attacker barrelling backwards. The man hits the side of the bath and loses his balance, reaching out for the shower curtain, desperate to steady himself. Toby keeps moving, taking the only advantage he’s likely to have.

He pushes the man who topples into the bath, pulling the curtain down after him. The man kicks out but Toby forces his legs apart and then up, keeping the man’s equilibrium off. Toby grabs the legs, turns, forcing the man face down inside the bath, his hands slapping against the porcelain, trying to get purchase. Toby flings the legs away and then grabs the man by the back of his collar and slams his face down against the metal of the taps. There is a wet cough and the plughole fills with blood and spit. Toby repeats the move, making sure he keeps his own balance, the last thing he wants to do is fall in the bath on top of the man. He needs to keep his advantage. He needs to be the one in control.

The man doesn’t die easily. He thrashes desperately, only too aware that he’s seconds from never moving again unless he can somehow turn his situation around. He catches Toby with his right leg, sending him toppling across the room. The man is just pushing himself up in the bath, his face a mess of blood, when Toby returns, the stolen .45 in his hand. He beats the man with the handgrip, hammering at him until he drops again, landing as a dead weight in the bath.

Toby staggers back and sits down on the toilet.

‘OK?’ Shining asks, his voice hesitant.

‘I’m fine.’ He touches his back which is hot and wet, blood mingling with sweat and making his shirt cling. ‘Pretty much.’

He gets up, reaches into the bath to check the man’s pulse. Satisfied, he steps back out of the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

‘This is taking too long,’ Shining warns him.

‘I know.’

He moves to the bedroom and pulls open the door.

There are three women in the bed. A blonde, a brunette and a redhead. All the flavours, he thinks, angry at the man who has left them here, hollow and brittle, waiting for his return. Human beings reduced to dolls. He tries to maintain his cold mood; anger is only likely to make him sloppy. They look at him with confused, doped eyes. The brunette gets most of Toby’s attention.

‘She’s here.’

‘Excellent.’

He holds up his hands in a placatory gesture. ‘I’m here to help,’ he tells them. ‘I’m going to get you out of here, but we have to be quick.’

They look on in confusion. Struggling up out of the bed linen. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small case containing a syringe, sealed needles and a vial of liquid.

The blonde, a bruise under her left eye the vague shape of France, offers him an enthused look when she sees the syringe. His heart sinks. She hopes he’s going to offer her a different type of freedom, the only escape she’s known for far too long.

‘This will help clear your head,’ he explains, talking to the dark-haired girl he’s come here for. ‘It’ll help.’

She shakes her head as he fills the syringe. Despite the drugs in her system she’s still a fighter. It’s a wonder they’ve let her live so long.

‘Please,’ he insists, holding her down, feeling lousy as he fights against her struggling. ‘It’s for your own good.’

How many times has she been told that over the last few years? He tries not to think about that as he injects her.

He lets her go and changes needles to repeat the dose on the others.

By the time he’s finished, the brunette is clearer-headed. The adrenaline won’t last long, he knows, but for now he has her.

‘Who are you?’ she asks.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he says. There’s no way he’s giving her his name, not in front of the other two. He steps back into the main room. ‘We need to be moving.’

He presses the button for the lift.

‘Not going,’ says the redhead, her voice still sluggish. ‘If we run, they’ll only come after us.’

‘That won’t be a problem,’ Toby explains, unhooking his cummerbund and flipping it over. He peels back the silk and pulls out a thin strip of explosive. ‘They won’t think there’s anyone to come after.’ In truth, they won’t care enough to look too closely. The Bratva will be far too concerned about which rival gang has attacked them to worry about the fate of three prostitutes. These women were disposable, though he isn’t going to tell them that. ‘You need to put on some clothes.’

As the women dress, stumbling around in quiet confusion, he places the explosive in predetermined points. This is careful physics. Too much and the risk to innocents will be unacceptably high, not enough and they’ll have wasted their time. He removes the detonator from his jacket pocket and sets it for five minutes. That will be time enough.

‘They won’t think anyone was interested in rescuing you.’ As he says this he realises how awful it sounds and regrets it but the clock is already ticking. ‘They’ll think this was just a rival gang making waves. They’ll be thinking about retribution, not you. You can vanish, start again.’

The lift chimes and he spins towards it, his pistol in his hand. The doors open, the lift is empty. He pulls a chair from next to a writing desk and drags it over. Holding the doors open, he stands on the chair, reaches inside and stretches up to disable the camera. He doesn’t want anyone to know who left this suite.

‘Get in,’ he says. He suspects it’s their conditioning more than anything else that has the blonde and the redhead running into the lift. They’re used to doing as they’re told. ‘You need to run,’ he explains, beckoning for the brunette who’s still hanging back. ‘Keep your heads down for a while and you should be safe.’

Something occurs to him. He dashes over to the body of the gangster he killed in the lift and removes the man’s wallet. He opens it. Loads of cash. Showy bastard. He throws the wallet to the blonde. ‘Share it. It’ll get you a train ticket.’

He turns back to the brunette, glancing at the detonator. Four minutes.

‘Come on! We need to go.’

‘No,’ she says, cold and simple.

‘Tell her who you are,’ says Shining in his ear.

‘How would that help?’ he replies. ‘She’s never met me.’ He pleads with her. ‘We haven’t time to argue, please, we need to go.’

Behind him the lift chimes again and he turns to see the doors closing.

‘Wait!’ he shouts, but the redhead has stabbed the button for the foyer and she isn’t interested in hanging around.

‘Fuck!’ Toby shouts as the doors close and the lift begins to descend. He looks to the timer as it continues to count down.

‘What’s happening?’ asks Shining.

‘Two of them have left without us,’ Toby explains, stabbing the call button for the lift, wanting to bring it back up as soon as it’s free.

‘How long have you got?’

Toby looks to the timer on the detonator. ‘Three and half minutes. Enough.’

‘Disconnect it.’

‘No, it’ll be enough.’

‘Disconnect it.’

‘No.’

‘Who are you talking to?’ the brunette asks.

‘A friend,’ he replies, tapping at his ear. ‘Now, as soon as the lift comes back we won’t have long. I need you to do exactly as I tell you.’

‘That is what men always say.’

He ignores that. The lift has reached the ground floor. He presses at the button again, pointless but unable to help his impatience.

Eventually, it begins to climb back up again. He glances at the detonator. Three minutes. Plenty of time. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

‘Ready?’ he asks her as the lift passes the fourth floor. ‘We go right down, walk straight out of the hotel and my friend is waiting in a car outside. We don’t hesitate. We ignore everyone. We just walk.’

He looks at her and she gives a vague nod. That will have to do.

The lift arrives. The doors open. Toby has his gun in his hand but, once again, the elevator is empty and all is well. ‘Get in,’ he says, pushing her forward.

As the elevator descends, he finds himself counting down along with the detonator. Two and half minutes …

Just before the doors open, he replaces his gun and straightens the .45 in his waistband. He checks his appearance in the reflective metal wall of the lift. He’ll pass muster. In a perilously short cocktail dress that has seen better days, his companion is likely to raise the odd eyebrow but they’ll move quickly. No time for questions. Straight out to the car. Drive to the docks. Go home.

The doors open and the foyer is a hive of activity. A group of people arriving clutter the reception desk, bellboys run around loading luggage and trying to be invisible. The entrance to the bar is suddenly filled with the party of gangsters, having drunk their fill. They are heading towards the lifts, towards Toby and the girl.

‘Keep your head down,’ he says, grabbing her by the shoulder and manhandling her towards the exit. Just young lovers out for a night on the town.

‘Son of a bitch,’ the woman says, spitting the words as if they’re poisoned food in her mouth. He feels a tug at the waistband of his trousers and he realises she’s taken the damn gun.

‘No!’ he says but it’s far too late, she’s pointing the gun towards the gangsters and firing.

The foyer becomes a chaos of noise and panic as the sounds of the gunshots echo off the walls. He sees the girl’s target, Bretzin of course, spasm as two bullets hit him, one taking off the side of his head, the other punching a hole in his throat. His companions are quick to respond and all of a sudden the room is filled with armed men and people screaming.

‘What’s going on?’ Shining shouts in his ear.

‘Get moving!’ Toby replies, grabbing the girl by the arm and running towards the door even as the gangsters try and aim their guns. They don’t know who they’re aiming for and that’s the only thing that saves Toby and his companion, forcing their way through the panicked bystanders as everyone tries to take cover.

The girl tries for one more shot and that’s nearly the end of them. The bullet goes wild as she’s pulled across the lobby but it identifies them as the enemy.

‘Stupid,’ shouts Toby, snatching the gun from her and slamming her through the exit with more force than he will later be comfortable with. He’s angry and panicked. He sees their escape vanishing, their chances evaporating with every step.

‘He had to die,’ she tells him as they emerge onto the street.

‘He may not be the only one,’ he replies, looking towards the headlights of August’s car as his partner accelerates towards the hotel. People on the street are looking around in confusion, alarmed by the gunshots and not knowing which way to run. August has to swerve the car to avoid a couple who run out into the road, wanting to put some distance between themselves and the hotel.

Armed pursuit appears in the hotel doorway. Out in the open, Toby has no idea what else he can do but get in the first shot. He removes the subcompact from his holster and fires. Shattering the glass in the door and hitting two of the gangsters.

The car screeches to a halt next to them.

‘Quickly!’ August shouts, throwing open the door.

Toby pushes the girl towards the back, still keeping his eye on the hotel exit. A gunshot rings out and knocks a hole in the passenger window. If August hadn’t been bent over, opening the door for Toby, it would likely have caught him too.

Toby returns fire but there are too many of them, he knows that he doesn’t stand a chance if they focus their aim on him. He has no cover and his death is so certain to him that he feels calm as he grabs the car door and turns to climb inside. At least they got her out, he thinks, waiting for the bullet that will end his life, at least it’s over for her.

Which is when the private suite erupts, a blossoming of light in the night sky and a compression of air that claps like the wrath of God.

Toby gets in, unable to believe the good fortune of the timing. The car screeches off up Voznesensky Avenue.

Shining checks the rear-view mirror as he turns left to drive back past the cathedral. ‘They’re still coming,’ he says, ‘it takes a bit more than blood and thunder to shake off the Bratva.’

Toby turns in his seat, trying to get a clear view of the road behind but August has taken the corner now and there’s nothing to see.

They drive past the cathedral, turning left again as they cut back towards Senate Square and, beyond it, the English Embankment. They’re drawing back past the hotel now, still smouldering on the other side of the cathedral.