The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (17 page)

Terry frowned. ‘Five grand? What for?’

‘For your share of the modelling business.’

‘What? For fuck’s sake, Sam. My fifty per cent of the business is worth more than that.’

‘Warwick says not.’

‘Well, Warwick’s talking through his arse.’

‘I thought he was your friend.’

‘Yeah. That makes two of us.’ Terry shook his head. ‘You can’t trust anybody these days.’

‘He said the business wasn’t doing that well.’

‘It was doing just fine last time I saw the books.’ He put his hands flat on the Formica table. ‘Okay. It’s cash you need. George Kay is sitting on some for me. About ten grand.’

‘He didn’t mention it when I saw him.’

‘Well, you can mention it now. Tell him you need it. Blackie’s going to need a sweetener as well. Plus there’ll be expenses for the Spanish thing.’

Sam slumped in her chair. She felt exhausted, as if all the strength had drained from her. ‘This isn’t fair,’ she sighed. ‘I had a life. I was over you.’

Terry smiled. ‘You were never over me. Not really.’

Sam laughed harshly.

Terry bent towards her, his face suddenly serious. ‘I know that my feelings never changed,’ he said. ‘Not deep down.’

‘Your screwing around was just superficial, then?’ she said sarcastically. ‘That’s a relief.’ She took a deep breath. ‘All I agreed to do was to give you an alibi for that night. Now you’re dragging me into something that . . .’ She shook her head, trying to organise her thoughts. ‘This is all getting out of hand.’

‘You can handle it,’ said Terry.

‘You’d better have told me everything.’

‘On my mother’s life.’

She looked at him coldly. ‘Don’t drag Grace down to your level, Terry.’

He shrugged apologetically.

‘If there’s anything else, any other deals you’re not telling me about, I’ll swing for you, Terry Greene.’

‘Haven’t you heard? They did away with capital punishment.’

‘Yeah, and aren’t you the lucky one.’

‘Hey . . .’

He gave her a hurt look, but Sam wasn’t mollified. ‘You bastard.’

‘I’ll make it up to you when I get out, love,’ said Terry, earnestly. ‘I promise. Straight and narrow.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Sam. ‘We’ll see.’

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Lapland was a sad, seedy place during the day. All the lights were on, revealing how truly shabby it was. The purple velour seats in the booths were faded and torn in places, the tables were scratched and the carpets peppered with cigarette burns. A cleaner was running a Hoover over the carpet and whistling tunelessly while a man in overalls stood on a stepladder, changing one of the spotlight bulbs in the ceiling. Someone had sprayed lemon-scented air freshener around, but it did little to mask the smell of stale smoke.

George Kay was behind the bar, counting bottles of spirits. He turned as he heard Sam’s footsteps. His face fell when he saw her, but he quickly smiled. ‘Sam, what a lovely surprise.’ He waddled around the bar and kissed her on the left cheek and gave her arm a small squeeze. ‘We didn’t have a meeting arranged, did we?’

‘Flying visit, George. How’s things?’

‘Fine.’ He nodded at the spirits behind the bar. ‘If I didn’t count every bottle, they’d steal me blind.’

‘Yeah, you can’t trust anybody these days, can you?’

Kay’s smile hardened a little. ‘So what can I do for you? Social call?’

‘Terry says you’re holding some cash for him.’

Kay’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did he now?’

‘Yes, he did. And frankly I’m a little disappointed that you didn’t mention it last time I came to see you, George.’

Kay took his asthma inhaler out of his pocket and took a long pull on it. He patted his chest and put the inhaler away. ‘Come on through to the office.’

Sam followed Kay to the office. His chest wheezed with every step and the material of his trousers whispered as his thighs rubbed together. He held the office door open for her and she squeezed past him, so close that she could smell his body odour.

Sam sat on the sofa and lit a cigarette as Kay went behind his desk. As he lowered himself into his executive chair he saw the cigarette in her hand. He frowned but didn’t say anything.

‘Terry said you had ten thousand pounds of his,’ said Sam.

‘Working capital, Sam. It’s for the business.’

‘That’s not how Terry tells it. He says he left it with you for a rainy day. And believe me, George, it’s pissing down outside.’

Kay put a hand up to his cheek, his brow furrowed. ‘Sam, I’m sorry, but I don’t have it. Not right now.’

‘Where is it, George?’

‘It’s . . .’ He struggled to find the words. ‘It’s in the business. The ebb and flow of capital. There’s wages to be shelled out, suppliers to be paid.’

‘George, how many thousands do you take each night? Last time I was here they were lining up outside.’

‘Overheads, Sam.’

‘Bollocks, George.’

‘I don’t want to fight with you, Sam. Please.’

‘This isn’t fighting, George,’ said Sam coldly. ‘This is conversation. Fighting is what Terry’s going to be doing if you don’t give me his money.’

Kay stiffened. ‘That sounds like a threat, Sam.’

‘You know Terry as well as I do.’

‘Yeah, but Terry’s not here, is he?’

‘Very observant of you, George. But he’s got friends on the outside.’

‘Like McKinley. I hear he’s working for you now.’

Sam didn’t reply. She blew smoke up at the ceiling and kept looking at him.

Kay tapped his fingers on the desk. His face was glistening with sweat. Sam’s eyes bored into his and eventually he looked away. ‘I can let you have a few grand today,’ he said, ‘but the rest of the money is tied up in the business,’ he said.

‘Well, untie it. PDQ.’

Kay heaved himself up from behind his desk and went over to a framed poster of two blondes entwined around each other. He swung the poster to the side, revealing a wall safe. He flicked the combination lock and pulled open the door, then took out a bundle of twenty-pound notes. ‘You know, I was thinking about what you said. About me buying out Terry’s stake in the clubs.’

Sam held out her hand for the money and Kay took it over to her. She ran her finger along the edge of the bundle. ‘How much is here, George?’

‘Two thousand.’

‘You said a few. Two isn’t a few. Two’s a couple. Two’s two. Terry said ten.’

‘I’ll get you the other eight, Sam. As soon as I can. I’m down a bundle on that cannabis deal, remember.’

‘You and me both.’ She put the money in her handbag.

‘I was thinking, maybe I could do a deal with Terry. Buy him out. That’d help your cashflow problem, right? I mean, I couldn’t pay top dollar, not after what I lost on the cannabis thing, but I’m sure we could come to some arrangement.’

‘I’ll run it by Terry when I see him.’

‘Do you know if he’s got anything else planned?’

Sam narrowed her eyes. ‘What do you mean, George?’

‘You know. Any other . . . money-making opportunities. Recoup my losses.’

‘You’d have to talk to Terry about that. You should go visit. I’m sure he’d love to see you.’

Kay nodded. He went back to the safe and locked it, then swung the poster back into place. ‘I know it’s a rough time for you just now, Sam. You’ve a lot on your plate.’

‘Thanks for your empathy, George.’

Kay went behind his desk and dropped down into his chair. He took out his inhaler and toyed with it as he smiled ingratiatingly at Sam. ‘It’s from the heart, Sam. I’ve always had a soft spot for you. You know that. If you need someone to talk to . . .’

Sam crossed her legs and saw Kay’s eyes follow the movement. Sam tried to contain her annoyance: she’d come to the club for Terry’s money, not to be hit on by someone who was supposed to be Terry’s friend. ‘The only thing I want to talk about at the moment is the whereabouts of Terry’s money.’

‘There’s more to life than money, Sam.’ Kay took another long pull on his inhaler. ‘You should come to the club one evening. Have a spot of bubbly. Some dinner. Let your hair down. Socialise, like you used to do. Woman like you, you shouldn’t be on your own.’

Sam stood up. She felt suddenly dirty and didn’t want to spend a minute longer in George Kay’s presence. He was even seedier than the club. ‘Call me when you’ve got the rest of Terry’s money, yeah?’ she said as she walked out of the door. Behind her, she heard Kay using the inhaler again.

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Sam climbed into the car and sighed.

‘How did it go, Mrs Greene?’ asked McKinley.

‘It was okay, I guess.’ She closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the seat. ‘What’s your take on George Kay, Andy?’ she asked. When McKinley didn’t answer, Sam opened her eyes. ‘What is it, bodyguard’s code of silence? Don’t want to tell tales out of school? Come on, I’m running out of cliches here.’

She saw him smile in the rear-view mirror. ‘Let me put it this way, Mrs Greene. Did you shake hands with him?’

Sam shook her head. ‘No.’

‘That’s okay, then, you don’t have to count your fingers.’ He started the car. ‘Where to?’ he asked.

Sam looked at her watch. It was just before noon. ‘I want to go and see Blackie.’

‘He’ll be well pleased about you paying him a visit.’

‘That’s as may be, but I need to get Terry out, and Blackie’s the only one who can help me.’

McKinley dropped her around the corner from the police station where Blackie was based, and she called the detective superintendent on her mobile as she walked towards the entrance. ‘Blackie,’ she said, ‘it’s Sam Greene.’

‘What the hell are you doing calling me at the office?’ he hissed.

‘If you’d prefer it, I could get Terry to call you from prison, but wouldn’t that be a bit awkward for you?’

‘This isn’t funny, Sam.’

‘And I’m not laughing. I’m outside, Blackie. And if you’re not here in five minutes, I’m going to be asking for you at the front desk.’ She cut the connection and lit a cigarette. She’d only smoked half of it by the time Blackie stormed out of the front doors of the station, putting on his coat.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he spat.

‘If Mohammed won’t go to the mountain . . .’

‘You won’t be happy until I’m behind bars with your husband, will you?’ He looked left and right. ‘Come on, we can’t stay here.’

‘Ashamed of me, Blackie?’

Blackie hissed in annoyance and walked off towards the main road, and Sam hurried after him.

Blackie turned off into a park. He kept looking around as if he feared someone might see them.

‘Blackie, will you relax? You’re making yourself look suspicious.’

‘You’re the wife of a convicted murderer. How’s it going to look if I’m seen with you?’

‘What, you never talk to criminals? What sort of cop are you? Just tell them I’m one of your grasses.’

Blackie hissed again and headed towards a small lake in the middle of the park.

Sam followed. ‘Look, Blackie, I need to talk to Morrison. He said he saw Terry leaving Snow’s after he was shot. I want to know why he lied. If I have to make your life a little uncomfortable to get to the truth, then tough shit.’

Blackie turned to face her. ‘Morrison’s in a witness protection scheme: new identity, the works.’

‘You know where he is?’

‘You can’t see him. End of story. If I let you speak to him, word’ll get back to Welch and I’ll be in deep shit.’

‘But you do know where he is?’

Blackie glared at her, then turned and walked off.

‘You can’t keep walking away, Blackie,’ Sam called after him. She took a manila envelope out of her bag and held it up. ‘Not if you want these destroyed.’ Blackie didn’t look back. ‘You can be all macho if you like, but if these end up on your boss’s desk, then your career’s in the toilet.’

Blackie stopped. He slowly turned and stared at the envelope in Sam’s hand. ‘What the fuck’s that?’

Sam didn’t reply. They stared at each other like a couple of gunfighters, neither prepared to draw first. Blackie gritted his teeth and took his hands out of his overcoat pockets before slowly walking back to her. He snatched the envelope from her and ripped it open. Inside was the set of black and white photographs that Sam had found in the safe deposit box. Blackie looked through the pictures, his face reddening. ‘You could get seven years for this.’

‘Just a few holiday snaps.’

‘This is fucking blackmail.’

‘Oh, I didn’t realise. Well, now that you’ve pointed that out, let’s just forget about the whole thing. Grow up, Blackie. I know it’s fucking blackmail. That’s the point. Now, are you going to take me to Morrison or do I send the negatives to your boss?’

Blackie put the photographs back in the envelope. ‘You’re learning fast, Sam.’

‘I’m having to.’

‘Just be careful you don’t get too smart for your own good, yeah?’ He slid the envelope into his inside jacket pocket. ‘You got a car?’

Sam took out her mobile phone and called McKinley. Two minutes later the Lexus pulled up outside the park and Sam and Blackie climbed in the back. Blackie told McKinley where to go and then settled back in a sullen silence.

They drove to a tower block in a rundown part of north-west London. Sam and Blackie got out of the car and Sam looked around at the boarded-up shopfronts sprayed with graffiti and pavements strewn with litter. ‘You certainly look after your witnesses, Blackie.’

‘Budget cuts,’ said Blackie. ‘Plus no one’s going to bend over backwards to make life easy for a scumbag like Morrison.’

Blackie took her over to the entrance to the tower block. There was a keypad entry system on the rusty metal door, but the lock had been broken and the door swung gently in the wind. Inside, ‘Out of Order’ signs had been plastered across two of the three lifts.