‘I think there is a way. Do you remember when you told Soparla to bug Ortega’s office?’ said the lawyer. ‘After the investment pitch you did’.
Charlie raised an eyebrow. ‘Of course’.
‘Well, we didn’t get much that I felt would be of use at the time but I went through them again yesterday. Does the name, “Sir Godfrey McCallister” mean anything to you?’
Charlie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, he was the judge that sent me down in ’72. Why?’
Montcada smiled and refilled his wine glass. It was almost as if he was delaying his answer to build suspense. He sipped from the glass.
‘It seems,’ he said, ‘that Sir Godfrey is now the Director of Public Prosecutions for England and Wales’.
‘So?’ said Charlie.
Montcada reached into his jacket pocket and extracted an audio cassette. He held it out for Charlie to take. ‘A call, two weeks ago between Daniel Ortega and the aforementioned Knight of the Realm’.
Charlie took the tape and examined it as if, by doing so, he would somehow understand the significance of the recording. ‘What did they talk about?’ he said.
‘Nothing much at first. Sir Godfrey has property down here and is a keen golfer. It seems Ortega and he play golf often’.
‘Guillem, you’re killing me here,’ said Charlie. ‘Get to the point, for fuck’s sake’.
Montcada chuckled. ‘Just towards the end of the call. They mention a gathering that they had both attended some months previous. A party that they had both very much enjoyed. A special kind of party’.
Charlie’s jaw dropped open. ‘You’re not talking about one of Madam Gigi’s exclusive shindigs?’
‘I am,’ the lawyer replied, evidently very satisfied with himself.
‘And they mention that?’ said Charlie. Montcada nodded. Charlie punched the air and let out a bizarre whooping sound.
Eddie was well and truly perplexed. ‘What the hell are you two talking about?’ he asked.
Charlie answered. ‘Madam Gigi is notorious. She’s this French bird in her sixties who was brought up in a convent, but ended up running brothels for the Krauts during the war. When they liberated Paris, she had to escape and moved down here. She knew Franco, I was told. Now she runs these regular, invite-only gatherings for the rich and famous in her villa up in the hills. Naked birds everywhere. They’re dressed up as bunny girls, cops, nurses, nazis. It’s all whips and chains, squirty cream, stuff like that. Not just girls, there’s plenty of pretty boys too, for the guests who are into that. Anything goes. There’re bowls of condoms, sex toys, tubes of lube everywhere. It’s like one of them Roman orgies’.
‘She has about fifty paying guests going to each event,’ said Montcada. ‘Politicians, businessmen. Captains of industry. Media barons. They pay a lot of money to attend’.
‘Why is this is relevant?’ said Eddie.
‘Lucian Soparla has a relationship with one of the escort girls that works at these events,’ said Montcada.
‘She takes covert photos for him,’ said Charlie. He twisted to face the lawyer. ‘Have you asked him? Does he have pictures of McCallister?’
Montcada grinned again. ‘Several. And they are most explicit’.
Charlie grabbed Montcada by both ears and kissed him on the lips. ‘Willy, you’re a goddamned fucking lifesaver. I’ll make a call to Godfrey-fucking-McCallister tomorrow and let him know just what I have on him. He’ll have no choice but to drop the charges on Bill’.
‘Mr McNaughton will be released tomorrow. Mr Taylor should be able to leave the UK in a few days too, now. After that we wait and see what they do next. If you are right, and either of them was a part of a…conspiracy, perhaps their actions will betray them?’
‘Like how?’ said Eddie. ‘What actions?’
‘If it was me,’ said Charlie, staring at the burning end of his cigar, ‘I’d get the hell out of town. A secret like that won’t last five minutes down here. And they’d know what would happen if I found out’.
‘What if they don’t want to get out of town? What if they come after you instead?’ said Eddie.
Charlie pulled up his shirt to reveal a black, snub-nosed revolver tucked into his belt. He stared at Eddie, his eyes devoid of emotion.
‘Well, let us hope that there is another explanation,’ said Guillem. He placed his glass down on the white coffee table and rose to leave.
‘Call me when you’ve dropped Mike back to his apartment,’ said Charlie. Guillem nodded. ‘And tell him to keep a low profile. Tell him what you said to us…about walking on eggshells’.
‘As you say, Charlie’ said Guillem. ‘Good night, Eddie’. Eddie raised his glass to bid Guillem farewell before gulping down the remaining contents.
‘Nightcap?’ said Charlie.
Eddie shook his head. ‘Nah,’ he said as he stood up. ‘I’m done in’.
Charlie patted him on the shoulder. ‘Yeah, too much drama for one day, right?’ He grinned. ‘I’m locking up,’ he said, as he started towards the front door, a set of keys in hand.
Eddie paused, watching his brother walking away.
‘I think you’re wrong, Charlie. About Mike and the others’.
Charlie kept walking. ‘I guess we’ll see’.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Done A Bunk
Three days later
Eddie woke early after a restless night. At least, he noted, the painful wartime nightmares seemed to have gone. He had not had one of those unwelcome intrusions for a few weeks.
Perhaps they were gone for good?
He drew the curtains. It was still dark, although the sun’s imminent arrival was being telegraphed by the peachy-red hue on the horizon. He peeked towards the alarm clock by the side of the bed. It was 5:53am.
‘Fuck it,’ he thought. ‘I’m going for a hike’.
Three hours later, Eddie sat perched upon a rocky outcrop on top of La Concha, the iconic mountain that dominates the horizon north of Marbella. His tee-shirt was drenched, and he was panting. He had driven up to the refugio - a rustic hotel for ramblers on the mountain’s north-easterly haunches - in a black Ford Sierra XR4i that Roger had lent him a few days earlier. Eddie had parked the car before marching uphill at full pelt, not stopping for rest until he had arrived at the 1,200-metre-high peak. He pulled a foil-wrapped round of cheese sandwiches from his backpack and devoured them quickly before downing a can of what he decided was a bad, Spanish imitation of Vimto. Why had he not brought water instead? he thought. He loosened his boot laces, leaned back against a granite block and surveyed the landscape before him.
To the east, to the left of him, Eddie could see the sprawl of Malaga city and decided he should get his ass over to explore it sometime. Marbella town, Puerto Banus and the surrounding built-up areas lay a lot lower in front of him. Far off to his right, he could see the Rock of Gibraltar, and beyond that, the long peaked ridges of the Dif mountains over in Morocco. It was a majestic vista. Breathtaking. He lit up a Marlboro and closed his eyes, a fresh gust triggering an involuntary shiver of his bare, sweat-laden shoulders. This was bliss. He had not been this at ease for a very long time. The trials and tribulations of the last few weeks, the lingering guilty pain from having left his wife and daughter, and the brutal intrusive memories from the South Atlantic had evaporated.
Eddie could have sat there for hours, had a noisy group of north-European walkers not been approaching. He strapped up his backpack, re-tightened his laces and stood up and after taking one last glance at the beautiful scene and committing it to memory, he began the trek back down to the car five miles, and several hundred metres below.
Eddie arrived back at Charlie’s villa at a little after eleven-thirty, planning to soak in a bath before rustling up a hearty meal. His plans were thwarted, however, when he found Roger, Kenny and Charlie in the middle of a heated discussion on the driveway.
Eddie dropped the backpack on the ground next to his brother. ‘Problem?’ he said, his tone failing
to mask his weariness.
‘Yeah,’ said Charlie. ‘We ain’t seen Mike since he got released’. He shot Eddie a glance that said “I told you so”.
‘It’s only been a couple of days,’ said Roger. ‘He’ll turn up. He’s probably gone on a bender. You know what he’s like’.
‘What if he ain’t?’ said Kenny. ‘What if he’s done a runner? He’s even more broke than us, his businesses have been closed, and his bird’s dumped him. Why wouldn’t he just pack his stuff and fuck off, hey?’
Roger gave Kenny a threatening look. ‘Is that what you’d do?’ he asked.
Kenny paused, no doubt regretting his choice of words. ‘Nah, course not,’ he replied.
Eddie was still processing what Kenny had just said about Veronica leaving Mike. ‘Veronica and Mike split up?’ he interjected.
Charlie rolled his eyes and stabbed an index finger in his brother’s sternum. ‘You can put that thought right out of your head,’ he whispered.
‘He’s done a bunk, I know he has,’ said Kenny. ‘We can kiss good bye to that poxy bail money’.
‘Hang on a sec, didn’t he buy some woman a flat?’ said Eddie, feeling that he was the only person present with a clear head. ‘Before we went to England?’
‘Of course!’ said Roger. ‘In Estepona. He’s got a Spanish bird there. Raquel, weren’t it?’
‘You’re right. I’d forgotten about that,’ said Charlie, shaking his head. He pointed at Kenny and Roger. ‘The apartment he got her is down by the port, near that shitty Irish bar. What’s it called?’
‘The Randy Leprechaun?’ said Roger.
‘That’s the one,’ said Charlie who was now stomping towards the open front door to the villa. ‘Me and Eddie will meet you there’.
‘I just ran up a mountain,’ said Eddie realising that chances of enjoying a long, hot bath were rapidly diminishing. ‘I need a wash’.
‘Shower later, you ponce. This is important’.
Eddie jogged towards the house to avoid the curtain of gravel that was being thrown in his direction by Kenny’s silver Mercedes as it pulled away.
Charlie’s Porsche pulled up on a service road above the port area in Estepona. The place was a hotspot for holidaymakers and was already full with groups of tourists milling around.
‘Remind me to buy you some bleedin’ deodorant before we head off,’ said Charlie as he clambered out of the car.
‘I said I needed a wash,’ Eddie said, but his brother’s attention was elsewhere. Charlie had spotted a commotion at the entrance to an apartment block across the street, and he was already rushing towards it.
Eddie peered through the crowds to see two women who appeared to be wrestling on the ground. One of them was a curvy woman with brown skin and long black hair. The other, Eddie realised, was Veronica.
He barged past a group of teenage kids and sprinted towards the melee. As he got there, he saw Mike exiting from the building, flanked by Kenny and Roger.
‘Fuckin’ hell,’ said Mike upon seeing his two girlfriends locked in near mortal combat, no little amusement on his face.
Charlie lifted both women to their feet, placing himself between the warring parties. ‘Enough,’ he shouted. The Spanish woman took a step back to sit down on a small wall, whimpering. Veronica stood, her arms crossed, glaring past Charlie at her love rival.
‘What the hell are you doin’?’ said Mike to Veronica. His answer came in the form of a vicious slap across the face.
Eddie grabbed hold of her and manoeuvred her away. ‘I thought you didn’t care about him anymore?’ he whispered.
‘That ain’t the point,’ she replied, a line of phlegm emitting from her mouth.
‘That bitch crazy,’ said the Spanish woman. ‘She hit me. In face. Look!’ She touched the inside of her lip and held out her hand to Charlie to show the fresh blood.
Charlie reached for his wallet and extracted several notes, which he placed into the Spanish woman’s hands. ‘Go get yourself a drink, there’s a good girl’. He lifted the woman up and directed her back into the apartment, before returning to face Roger and Kenny. ‘You two get Veronica back to her car and make sure she gets home. Me and this dumb bastard are going to have words’. He was pointing at Mike.
Veronica stomped past Eddie towards her car, Roger and Kenny attempting to keep up. ‘You okay?’ he asked. She ignored him.
‘Ed. C’mon,’ shouted Charlie, who was now escorting Mike towards the open doors of The Randy Leprechaun pub.
The pub’s interior was almost empty, its patrons preferring the sun-soaked seating outside. Charlie shoved Mike towards a wooden bench in the corner. ‘Sit down, you fuckin’ idiot,’ Charlie ordered.
Mike, looking like a scorned puppy, did as he was told.
A waiter walked towards them and handed out food menus. ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen. Can I tell you about our specials?’
‘Fuck off,’ said Charlie, still glaring at Mike. Eddie gestured at the startled man to leave, pulled up a stool and sat down next to Mike.
‘Go on then,’ said Charlie, arms folded. ‘Tell me’.
‘Tell you what?’ Mike replied.
‘Tell me what you were up to’.
‘Nothing. Just wanted to see Raquel, didn’t I?’ said Mike. He folded his arms too, the pair of them looking like angry lovers. Charlie kept glaring, saying nothing until Mike relented. ‘Okay, fine. I spoke with the Moroccan geezer’.
Charlie almost exploded. ‘I fuckin’ knew it. You just can’t do what you’re told, can you?’
‘What Moroccan geezer’?’ asked Eddie, feeling somewhat out of the picture. Charlie responded.
‘That dope dealer what I specifically told Mike not to talk to a few weeks ago and several times before that,’ he said. ‘Coz, that’s the last fuckin’ thing we need to get caught up in right now’.
‘But Charlie, don’t you see? It’s our way out of this mess,’ said Mike, still unwilling to toe the line. ‘He’s got a shedload of the stuff but nobody to move it. He needs us. It would be a bloody bargain. All we need -’.
Charlie leapt forward and pushed Mike back with both hands. ‘What don’t you understand, you stupid bastard?’ Mike’s shoulders dropped, and he swung away, exasperated. ‘Guillem explained it to you. They’re cracking down on us. All of us. They’ve agreed on the extradition treaty. You’re putting us all at risk, Mikey. One more incident like this and…and we’re fucked. Fucked, you get it? Do yer?’ Mike nodded. ‘I need your fuckin’ word on this,’ said Charlie, holding Mike by the collar.
Mike stared at Charlie, and through gritted teeth, said, ‘Fine, I’ll drop it’. Charlie held his gaze for a moment, searching for signs of deceit, before relaxing his grip and sitting back.
‘I know you’re just trying to fix the situation, Mike. But you gotta do things my way’.
Mike straightened his shirt. ‘I always do, Charlie. And look where it’s got us’. He shook his head, still smarting from the reprimand, and rose to leave.
‘I need you back in Marbella,’ said Charlie.
‘What, so you and your baby brother can keep a watch on me?’ said Mike.
‘If that’s what it takes’. Charlie stood up and tried to put an arm around Mike, but Mike pushed the peace offering away.
‘I’m going back. But not coz you’re ordering me to’. He shot Eddie a threatening glance. ‘But coz, I am going to find out who told my Veronica about Raquel’. He pushed a chair aside, barged past Eddie - nearly sending him to the floor - and stomped away.
Eddie sat down next to his brother. ‘What was that about?’ he asked
‘He’s just pissed off I did that in front of you. Relax, this is good’.
‘How is this good?’
‘Because,’ replied Charlie, ‘If Mike was involved in cheating us on the diamonds, he wouldn’t have been off trying to do some stupid fucking dope deal, would he?’
Eddie thought about it. It made sense. Mike had come to Estepona hoping to organise a d
eal to raise quick cash. It was not the behaviour of someone sitting on a trove of diamonds.
‘I guess you’re right,’ he said. ‘But I still got the feeling he has it in for me’. He glanced out the window to see Mike clambering into a grey Audi 80 rental car. An icy shiver ran through his spine. ‘You don’t reckon he knows about -’.
‘You and Veronica?’ said Charlie, already ahead of him. ‘Let’s hope not. But best you watch your back tonight’.
‘What’s happening tonight?’ asked Eddie, unaware of any plans.
‘We’re hitting the beach club again’.
‘The place where I had to pull Kenny out of the pool?’ said Eddie, in disbelief.
‘That’s the one’. Charlie seemed surprised. ‘What, didn’t I tell you? Them photos of the posh toff at the sex party worked a treat. They released Bill. He’s back from England later, and we’re throwing him a party.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Going All In
Charlie drove down to Marbella Beach Club. They pulled up outside the venue, next to a lengthy queue of waiting attendees, or ‘plebs’ as Charlie referred to them. He tossed the keys to one of the parking attendants and, as usual, a doorman recognised Charlie as he approached and beckoned the brothers towards the VIP entrance.
‘Busy one tonight!’ said Charlie while slapping several bills into the man’s hand.
‘Yes, Mr Lawson,’ the doorman replied. He seemed a little nervous. ‘Your group is at a corner table on the private patio this evening’.
‘Hey? Why aren’t we at our usual table near the pool?’ The doorman leaned towards Charlie and lowered his voice.
‘It’s the new owner. He had explicit instructions’.
‘New owner?’ said Charlie.
‘Yes, Señor Ortega’.
‘Ortega?’ said Charlie, his surprise and anger evident. ‘Daniel Ortega?’
The doorman nodded and pointed to the growing queue at the door. ‘I must go’. Charlie remained rooted to the spot, still processing the news.
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