by Keane Jessie
Things were going to have to change. He admitted to himself that he had lost grip lately. Let things slide. But not any more. After he’d settled things down with the cartel, he’d be back in the driving seat. Javier was meeting him at the Savoy. And he was looking forward to it. He’d grease up that little wop bastard with oily promises and grand reassurances, and Javier would soak up every word and go back to Bogota to tell the cartel that Harlan was back in control.
Soon, he would be. He promised himself that.
He’d wobbled a bit. But that was in the past.
Now he was here, cooling his heels, mentally preparing himself. He took a long luxurious shower and then towelled dry. He dressed in fresh jeans and a crisp white linen shirt. Then he stood looking out of the vast master bedroom window down the garden and over the grounds to the orchard and the zoo. No helicopter on the helipad, not any more. He thought of Charlie then, and that crazy old cow Nula.
Dead and gone.
Sorting them out should have solved every problem. But it hadn’t been plain sailing since the crash. Far from it. Someone, somewhere, was making his life hell, tearing chunks out of his backside, kicking the shit out of his manor.
He thought of Belle. Still missing. Dead, or alive? He hadn’t a clue. He thought of the scarred woman the Vietnamese had talked about. The dragon lady.
Belle?
Nah. Surely not. He went back downstairs. He’d have some lunch if he could find anything in the kitchens and then he’d go down to the zoo; he liked it down there, although that place, like the rest of his manor, had been sadly neglected of late. They used to keep a girl on to care for the reptiles, but she’d left, months ago. The caimans and the big boa had scared her. So he had no idea when they or any of the other animals had last been fed. None whatsoever. It was time he got a grip on things.
And he would.
He promised himself that.
Leaving the master suite, he paused at his old room and pushed the door open. It was empty now, all his stuff had been moved out. The master suite was much more comfortable even though it was bigger and he’d always had a liking for small, enclosed spaces. Still, he was getting used to the suite. It was fitting that the master of the house should be in there – and he was the master.
He kept telling himself that.
155
‘He’s back at the house,’ said Tank, coming in the door at Beechwood Farm. ‘He’s just taken the buggy out down the grounds. Past the orchard.’
The rest of them were sitting around the kitchen table, drinking tea. Belle drained her cup and stood up. ‘That’s my cue, then.’
‘Ours,’ said Jack, rising and going into the bedroom. He came back, tucking the gun inside his jacket. ‘Come on then. Let’s go.’
Belle and Jack went out to the Jeep. Jack drove along the lane until they reached the Stone residence, then turned in and sped up the drive, veering to the right and sending the Jeep bulldozing through the pampas grass, over the formal gardens, and into the orchard. They could see the white buggy now, parked up beside the seat outside the zoo. Twenty yards away from it, Jack stopped the Jeep, switching off the engine. He started to get out.
‘Jack.’ Belle caught his arm. ‘This is my job. Not yours.’
He looked at her. ‘You’re fucking joking.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Belle. He’s already had one crack at finishing you. You want to give him a second?’
‘Give me the gun,’ said Belle. ‘And give me fifteen minutes. Then you can come in.’
Jack gave her the stare that made grown men crumble. Belle didn’t.
‘You won’t change my mind,’ said Belle. She’d been frightened of Harlan Stone long enough. Now it was time to be the bold, brave girl she’d once been – the old Belle – and to set this straight.
He took the gun out and handed it to her. ‘You’re crazy.’
‘Fifteen minutes,’ she said, and began to make her way towards the zoo.
156
Harlan sat in the feed store for a while, then he pushed through the heavy-duty doors and through the thick plastic one, emerging into the central atrium where the caiman pool was. It felt like a semi-dark underground cave in here, with its ferns and waterfalls and humid, oppressive air. He’d always liked its feeling of enclosure.
But things weren’t too good in here. He’d seen that straight from the off. Some of the poisonous frogs were dead in their tanks, the lizards looked seriously out of condition and the boa’s big heated glass enclosure was empty. He went around the edge of the pool now, looking for the biggest caiman, George; but him and the other two must be in the water. Last time he’d looked down here, there had been a few tiny babies – but the others had probably eaten them; he couldn’t see them now.
He strolled around to the far side, careful not to slip on the ornamental rocks. Then he looked across and . . .
‘Belle?’
He gasped out the word as he saw her standing there, across the pond. His foot slipped and for a second his leg was in the water. He scrambled back. You had to be careful around the caimans. You couldn’t see them, but they were there, and they were aware of you.
And right now? They must be hungry.
Harlan stepped back, further up the bank. He gave a nervous half-laugh as he stared across at her.
‘Shit, I thought you were dead,’ he said.
‘Nearly was,’ said Belle, and turned her face so that he could see.
Harlan winced. ‘The caimans do that?’ he asked.
‘Yeah they did. After you told your boys to throw me in.’
‘Well dammit, Belle, you shouldn’t have been so fucking awkward about the whole thing,’ he snapped.
Belle’s stare was steady. ‘What? About the fact that you killed baby Jake? Sorry Harlan, but some things do stick in my throat. Killing babies? That’s not nice.’
‘All right! I hold my hands up, I did that. And that fool Beezer, I did him too. Things were getting old. Getting tired. Charlie’s reign was done, you know that. It was time for me to take over and Beezer was just one of the casualties of war, I guess.’
Belle pulled out the gun and pointed it at him.
‘You sent Ludo and Nipper to find me and kill me,’ she said.
‘You’re not going to use that. Look – you made me angry, Belle. You know you shouldn’t make me angry. You were mine. You know that.’
Belle shook her head. ‘You killed my parents.’
‘I told you. They were the old guard. And if you hadn’t been so fucking obstinate I wouldn’t have harmed a hair on your head. You know I wanted you. You know what a good team we’d make.’
She stared at him, her eyes cold. ‘Don’t kid yourself. And anyway – I’ve been busy, Harlan. Pulling your manor apart. Me. You think you’re a dangerous man to upset? You don’t know a damned thing. Watch and learn, you arsehole.’
Harlan’s eyes were fixed on the gun in her hand. ‘So that’s it? You’re going to shoot me?’ He shook his head and laughed. ‘Nah. You won’t do it. You and Milly, you’re just girls. No danger to anybody except yourselves.’
‘You think so? You’re wrong. You killed them too, didn’t you. Charlie and Nula.’
‘I told you. They were getting in the way. I had plans for the manor. Big plans.’
And then Belle saw something move.
Something big.
157
‘Harlan . . .’ Belle’s words caught in her throat. Her eyes were fixed on what was stirring right there behind him.
Shit, that thing’s massive . . .
He must have heard something. Maybe a twitch of ancient muscle in the instant before the biggest caiman moved. Harlan’s head whipped down, and back. He staggered forward a step, his foot slipping on algae-slimed rocks. A cry escaped him and then the caiman lunged, very fast, its jaws opening wide.
Harlan was knocked backward into the water and as fast as an express train the caiman was in there too, grabbing him with ferocious t
eeth, yanking him under. The waters of the big pool thrashed and boiled and Belle stood there frozen.
Suddenly, Harlan’s head broke the surface.
‘Christ, help me, Belle!’ His eyes were wild with fear.
The thing was rolling, dragging him back under. Over the din of the waterfall and the roaring of the water as man and beast fought, she thought she could hear something else. Then she realized what it was; it was Harlan’s bones, snapping like pistol shots as the caiman shook him in its jaws like a dog worrying a rat.
Shivering with horror, she got her legs to move. Treading warily, she rounded the pond with its inky black waters. He might be a monster but she bloody wasn’t. If she could save him, she would. For a long while the waters were still. No movement. Belle looked around but could see nothing. No movement at all.
And then Harlan’s head came to the surface, eyes open. There was a small smear of blood on his chin. His breath was wheezing in and out of his throat in tortured little gasps.
‘Shoot it . . .’ he said faintly.
The big caiman’s head broke the still surface of the pool right beside his, its reptilian eyes without expression, without feeling. Then its jaws opened, wider and wider.
Belle aimed the gun. Then into her brain trickled the memories. Her mum. Her dad. Baby Jake. Charlie and Nula. And all that Harlan had made her, personally, suffer with his cruelty. All the misery he must be causing day by day, to thousands of people.
Her hand moved, realigning the gun.
Now she wasn’t pointing it at the caiman.
She was aiming at Harlan.
He saw her movement and a weird grimace twisted his brick-red face as the caiman inched closer, ready to force the life out of him.
‘You . . . ain’t got the fucking balls . . . for that . . .’ Harlan groaned.
Belle stared him straight in the eye. Then she let the gun fall to her side.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘But not having balls at least means I don’t have to think with them.’
His eyes were still open, and horribly aware, as the caiman’s huge jaws clamped down, covering his head.
Slowly, the massive beast sank down, into the depths, dragging Harlan Stone with him. The water closed over the pair of them with barely a ripple.
Belle stood there for a little while and then, carefully, she walked back around the pond. Then she stepped through the heavy plastic door and out through the main door where the warning notices were posted, and into the sunshine and fresh air, where Jack was waiting for the fifteen minutes to be up. To her, it felt like she’d been in the zoo for hours.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
‘Yeah. Much better now,’ said Belle. She thought of the phone lines straight into the feed room at the zoo. No, that wouldn’t do at all.
‘Where is he?’ asked Jack. He took the gun she handed him, checked it; it hadn’t been fired.
‘In there. Something ate him but we don’t know a thing about that. Jack? You can take all the taps off his phone lines now. We don’t need them any more.’
158
Days later, Javier Matias was sitting at a side table in the Savoy Grill and getting pretty fucking annoyed. He flicked back his silk shirt cuff and glanced at his Piaget Emperador Cushion watch – it was his proud boast that it had cost him nearly half a million dollars – and scowled.
That son of a bitch Harlan Stone! Who the fuck did he think he was, to keep him waiting like this? One o’clock Wednesday, he’d said. Now it was nearly two. Javier was severely pissed off with Stone already, and now this. In all his business dealings Javier placed a great emphasis on manners, on punctuality. He looked around him at the other diners and his mood was not improved by their happy chatter.
‘Would you like to order now, sir?’ asked the waiter, coming over for the second time.
‘You know what?’ Javier got to his feet, slapping his napkin down onto the pristine table. ‘I fucking wouldn’t. And if that asshole Harlan Stone ever shows up, tell him he’s finished. It’s over. OK?’
Not waiting for a reply, Javier stormed out of the restaurant and was gone.
159
Tank and the others departed, leaving Beechwood Farm feeling weirdly empty. Slowly, things got back to normality. Belle rode out on Lady Marmalade, helped Jack around the farm, and late in the afternoons they swam in the river, until the weather turned and it got too cold.
The police had been in touch, leaving a phone message at the house about Harlan. When Belle returned the call and explained that Milly – Harlan’s next of kin – was unwell, they told her that he had been found, dead and partially digested in the central pool of the zoo when someone in the nearby village had raised concerns about the animals kept there by the – clearly absent – owners of the house.
‘My God. That’s awful,’ she said.
She sometimes thought of him, spitting bile at her in his last moments while the caiman ate him. Sometimes, dreams about that day woke her, sweating, in the night. She didn’t know if there would be a funeral or a memorial for Harlan, and she didn’t want to know either. He was dead; that was enough for her.
As the days were shortening and the leaves starting to fall, Stevie brought Milly to the farm and then he too departed.
Milly was so changed. Thinner, more serious.
Belle hugged her when she arrived. ‘Mills! I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said.
Milly looked like she’d been through hell. When they spoke later, she told Belle that she still wanted the drugs, and that Stevie had told her she would want crack every day for the rest of her life but that she must never, ever take it, because that would be the end of her.
‘The parents kept us two out of it,’ Belle remarked. ‘The manor. The trade. That’s the one good thing they did for us.’
‘Yeah,’ Milly agreed. ‘Just that.’
160
One bright morning, Belle put on her black Chanel skirt suit over her best underwear, then she slipped on matching heels and swept her hair back off her face in a tight chignon. Looked at herself in the mirror. Left side bad, right side good. She smeared on mascara and lipstick. Stared at her reflection. She wasn’t beautiful young Belle any more. But the scar had given her a sober, pain-filled dignity. She looked a force to be reckoned with, no longer the exuberant girl. Now, she was a woman at the very height of her powers.
She went to the wardrobe, opened it, and there it was: the Louis Vuitton holdall containing Nula’s journals and all Charlie’s secrets. Nothing had been left out. Nula had listed his contacts, his movements and those of his associates. His regular shipment details. It was all in there. The truth.
Nula had known it all, and it had destroyed her.
Now, that knowledge was Belle’s – and Milly’s too.
She closed the wardrobe door and walked out of the bedroom into the kitchen.
Jack nearly choked on his cereal.
‘Jesus,’ he said, astonished.
‘Is that good?’ asked Belle.
‘It’s fucking terrific. I’ve got used to seeing you slopping around the place in my old shirts and Mum’s threadbare jeans.’ He shook his head and gave her that heart-stopping grin of his.
Handsome bastard, she thought, feeling her stomach turn over with sudden longing. There were lots of things she hadn’t expected to happen in her life, and this was one of the big ones. She hadn’t expected – not in a million years – to meet Jack Tavender, or to feel the way she did about him.
‘Damn, you do scrub up well,’ he said. ‘Got time to go back to bed?’
‘No,’ said Belle, but she was smiling. ‘Jack, can you get in touch with Tank?’
She told him why.
‘OK,’ he said, and went on eating his cereal. ‘I’ll have a surprise for you when you both get back.’
‘A surprise? Like what?’
He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Secret,’ he said.
Milly came out of her bedroom and looked at them both. ‘Ready?�
�� she asked.
‘Yep. Let’s go,’ said Belle.
161
At Mr Gatiss’s office, the receptionist ushered them in and he looked up at them from behind his desk, peering at them over his half-moon specs. Belle saw him stare at her scar, almost wince; then his eyes went to Milly.
‘Miss Stone, I believe? And you’d like your friend Miss Barton to stay and hear the reading? Please sit down. Can we get you both a coffee? Or tea?’
Belle shook her head. Milly too.
He was shuffling papers. ‘Such awfully sad news. A catalogue of disasters, yes? First the parents. Then Mr Harlan Stone dying so horribly. Just tragic.’
‘It is,’ agreed Milly.
‘So. Now let’s see.’ He unfolded a sheaf of papers, gazed at the top one and said. ‘Well this is perfectly straightforward. As Mr Harlan Stone’s only kin, you inherit everything.’
Milly squinted at him.
‘The house. The gatehouse. The zoo . . . oh dear, such a tragedy . . . and the business, Stone Furnishings Ltd., in its entirety, and all the business premises, factories, clubs, all the monies in various accounts, the cars, the boats . . .’
Milly tuned out.
She had a loud buzzing in her ears, like a swarm of angry bees.
Mr Gatiss kept speaking, but she didn’t hear another word. She walked out of the office with Belle, and Belle drove them back to the farm. She was a millionaire. Possibly a billionaire. If the authorities had ever seen behind the facade and got wind of the true nature of Charlie Stone’s business empire, she wouldn’t have got a bean. You couldn’t profit from the proceeds of crime. But Charlie had been clever. He’d cheated them all.
So – unexpectedly, miraculously, Milly was rich.