But it was ringing now. He wasn’t imagining it. Which meant it had to be connected to the little scheme he’d concocted several years earlier when he’d first started running for parliament. The scheme that was eventually going to take him all the way to First Minister of a new immigrant-free and fearful right-wing Scotland one day.
Clark excused himself from his wife’s presence. Without words, she gently nodded him off with a fake grin. She knew most of her husband’s deep dark secrets but probably not them all. She still preferred to play dumb and innocent when it came to Clark’s darker and shadier business matters that had gone a long way in getting them where they were today.
Clark glanced at the small ringing mobile as he made his way around to the narrow, shaded side of his house, right beside his secluded bin shed. He took a deep breath when he saw just who the hell was calling him.
Detective bloody Jonas.
What the hell could he be calling for and on such an early afternoon weekday? A very bad feeling began to form and swirl around in the pit of Clark’s stomach. Something was wrong. Something felt seriously, terribly wrong. He knew it even before he picked up the blasted phone. He always had a sixth sense for these things. Why else would the detective be calling and not messaging him first?
Clark quickly composed himself and finally answered the call. He half turned back to the main garden too and continued to watch his little son bounce up and down for joy on the bouncy castle he’d set up for him and his friends.
“Clark. Where are you?” he heard a very anxious Jonas cry down the phone.
“Detective Jonas? Why the hell are you calling me on this bloody number? It’s meant for messages only.” Clark immediately snapped, ignoring Jonas’s question.
“Just tell me where the hell you are, Clark! I’m fucking serious.”
Clark unleashed a deep sigh. He despised being asked questions. Only he was supposed to ask the questions when it concerned the people who worked for him. It was also the thing he liked least about being a politician. All those bloody damn questions he got asked, every bloody day. Especially by the left-wing media who despised him with a passion. And always stupid pointless questions with no respect or concern to the rising right-wing public who kept voting him in.
The first thing Clark was going to do when he finally got elected as the new First Minister of Scotland in a right-wing government was ban all bloody questions and press conferences. He would dictate and make statements and that would be the damn well end of it. Oh, how he dreamed for such a day!
“Well, Detective Jonas, since you asked me so nicely, I’m actually at my private home in Kelvingrove with my family. It’s my son’s birthday today for Christ’s sake.”
“Okay. Don’t move. I’m sending some people over to you now.”
“What bloody people? Not that Luke hooligan and his gang of thugs, I hope? Keep those buffoons well away from me, you hear? You know I can’t be seen with or even remotely connected with those lunatics. And besides, I have my own security team here.”
Clark glanced around at six various security guys who all worked for him. They were all of various shapes and sizes. Armed with handguns and positioned very discreetly around the front and back of his home and garden.
“What the hell’s going on, Jonas?” Clark finished.
“Yes, I’m sending Luke and his gang. We can’t involve anyone else. You need bodies there.”
Clark was getting sick and tired of Jonas’s vagueness. He was ready to explode and tell the annoying detective to bugger off.
“Tell me what the hell’s going on?”
“I don’t have time to explain, Clark, but… Gayle...”
Hearing Gayle’s name sent a slivering shudder, roaring down to the pit of Clark’s stomach and tripling up on the bad feelings already planted there. That blasted meddling woman! Clark thought. The bane of his existence for the past five years.
“She had a sister,” Jonas continued. “Maybe ex-military or special forces or some secret shit like that. I have no idea where the fuck she came from… But she’s coming for you.”
A sister, Clark thought. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. It didn’t sound like too much of an emergency now. At the worst he’d imagined some proof had surfaced linking him to the racist football gang that he’d employed—or rather Jonas had recruited for him to drive fear and panic into the hearts of the left-wing Scottish public. And either he was about to be arrested for his involvement, for which he had a few back up plans of deniability already in place, or he was about to be blackmailed by someone threatening to leak it all to his enemies in the press.
“So, call the fucking police then? Have her arrested. Nobody’s going to believe anything she has to say anyway. Or else take care of her yourself like you did her annoying junkie sister.”
“She knows what we did to Gayle? I can’t involve the police in this or else we’re all fucked. We have to deal with this on our own. That’s why I’m sending Luke. She knows too much already.”
“What the hell does she know? Does she even have any proof? Any concrete evidence at all for that matter?”
“No. Just… all hearsay. She had a witness. My witness, that she definitely could have used against us if she’d kept her alive and handed her over to the proper authorities. But it was like she just didn’t give a shit about any of that. She just dispatched her like she was nothing Clark. Fucking nothing. This woman, she’s dangerous. I haven’t seen anything like her before in my life. She’s a fucking monster. An absolute fucking force of nature. She doesn’t care about justice. She only cares about…”
Jonas hesitated right there. He couldn’t even bring himself to say the word; it felt so stupid.
“What, Jonas?” Clark replied, intense and impatient. “What does she only fucking care about? Spit it out man?”
Jonas closed his eyes and gently sighed.
“Revenge, Clark. She only cares about revenge for her sister.”
“Then why the fuck are you still alive? And Luke?”
“She doesn’t know about Luke’s full involvement yet. And she pretty much killed me, not five minutes ago. She tied me up, stabbed me, locked me up inside a car along with my witness and drove us both into the fucking Clyde. It was a damn miracle that I ever managed to somehow swim and struggle out in time. I should be fucking dead, Clark. I shouldn’t even be speaking to you now. Warning you of what’s coming your way.”
Clark closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He really wasn’t listening to Jonas in the slightest anymore and just humoring the detective by quietly lending him his ear.
“So… It’s just one woman we’re dealing with here, right? Is that correct?” Clark continued.
“Yes, but you’re not hearing what I’m saying…”
“One fucking woman on her own? No one else. Just her, with zero fucking evidence against us?” Clark raged further, sounding even more baffled.
“Yes.”
“So, where’s the fucking problem?” Clark roared.
***
Estelle sped down the North side of George Square and towards the east end of George Street. She whizzed in and out of the crawling traffic, through red lights, and even up onto the busy shopping pavements, zipping around terrified pedestrians who were just walking around minding their own business.
Estelle pulled up on her bike right outside the steps of Clark’s ‘Britain United’ campaign office. The look on the faces of more horrified pedestrians walking by was priceless. But Estelle ignored every single one of them as she dismounted her bike in the middle of the pavement.
Estelle climbed up the steep steps towards the offices. At the top she gazed intensely through the huge glass-paneled main door before entering. It looked busy, which might cause a bit of a problem, she thought, if things kicked off and she lost her cool. She was running only on her anger and emotions now. That was it. That was all. She’d made so many stupid mistakes and most definitely exposed herself to the authorit
ies in the Glasgow area further today. It was like all of her special covert training had gone completely out of the window. But she didn’t care. All she cared about now was Gayle. Revenge for her sister and wiping out everyone responsible for her death off the face of the planet. She’d think and deal with the consequences from her employers once it was all over. If she, in fact, made it that far.
Estelle pushed opened the glass main door of the large office space and entered the campaign reception. As soon as she set foot over the threshold she was approached instantly by a cheerful and radiant young female canvasser dressed in a smart grey trouser suit with her blonde hair tied back into a ponytail. To Estelle’s disbelief the cheerful looking lady placed a ‘Britain United’ sticker immediately upon the right upper chest of her hoody.
“A vote for Clark is a vote for your neighborhood back!” The woman cheerfully preached like Estelle was the hundredth person she’d said the exact same thing to that very day. Estelle took a deep breath and gave the woman a cold stare. She told herself that she had to be calm and composed. Well, until she came face to face with this dick-head politician ‘Clark Wallace’ who might only be a few rooms away.
“Where is Clark Wallace?” Estelle said with a calm and casual tone while trying her utmost to force some kind of positive grin.
“Oh. He’s not in today. It’s his son’s birthday, so he’s taken the morning off.”
“So, he’ll be at his home then?”
The cheerful woman hesitated for a second as she swiftly realized that she wasn’t actually supposed to give out that kind of information.
“Possibly. What is this about? Do you know Clark…personally, I mean? Do you have some business together? Perhaps I can help? Or else…direct you to someone who can assist you more?”
“Actually, I would like to make a big donation to his cause. I’m a huge fan.”
“Well perhaps our campaign manager could help you with that.”
The woman turned to glance towards a plump middle-aged woman with glasses sitting down at what looked like one of the main offices at the far end of the building.
“…She’s just over there and should be free.”
By the time the woman turned back around to face Estelle though, she was already stepping out through the main door and heading back outside.
“Miss? If you would just let me show you to our campaign manager’s office… I’m sure she could help you with the donation forms,” the woman pleaded.
“I’ll come back,” Estelle replied without even turning around to face her. “This donation really needs to be settled with him in person, I’m afraid.”
Estelle hurried down the building steps and climbed back onto her motorbike. The canvasser continued to watch Estelle with a perplexed look on her face from behind the glass door. She looked even more startled when Estelle sped off on her bike without even wearing a helmet and zipped through the crawling traffic again at almost a hundred miles an hour, all without a care for anyone or anything else around her.
The woman even covered her mouth in shock when two cars collided with each other just to avoid Estelle roaring away.
“Jesus bloody Christ.” The woman gasped.
***
Across the city in Finnieston, Luke was already out of hospital and inspecting, with great annoyance and frustration, the severe water damage that had been caused to his own apartment from the previous night. He’d only been released from the hospital an hour earlier so still had his broken arm in a cast as he walked around his ruined apartment. Everything had been soaked through and completely ruined. All of his lovely, new state-of-the-art modern-day furniture and smart app systems had been permanently destroyed too, even his beloved Alexa systems, due to some psycho bitch letting off his sprinkler system the previous evening. And he knew exactly who the culprit bitch was. That fucking Estelle, back from the dead. Back from under whatever filthy rock she’d been hiding under all those years.
He knew the second he’d heard the news at the hospital during the night, even before he’d gotten the description of her and that treacherous David prick from his as-of-this-morning ex-girlfriend, Betty. And the fact that the only thing actually missing from his flat, after so much irreparable damage, was only Gayle’s ashes. Luke was seething. Christ, he wanted Estelle’s head on a stick. He wanted it even more than he wanted his beloved Glasgow Rangers to win a league title. He owed her one hell of a beating big time. And not just for almost killing him and his gang the night before. But for destroying his beloved home that had taken him years to build up, furnish and redecorate and get just perfectly right for living in.
David too was dead now to Luke. After everything he’d done for the bastard over the years. Helped him out. Gave him work with the gang. Given him numerous clients for his drug dealing exploits—more clients than he could handle, for that matter. David had thrown it all back in his face and sided with that old bitch girlfriend of his, who he hadn’t even seen or heard from in well over a decade. What loyalty.
Luke had sent some guys around to David’s home in Govanhill during the night, but David was long gone. His wife and kids too. Suitcases packed and skedaddled. But Luke wasn’t too concerned about his whereabouts for the time being. The little drug dealing junkie runt would turn up somewhere eventually in some town or some city across the UK, and one of his many contacts from around the British Isles would let him know of his hideout location soon enough. David was a criminal drug dealer after all. He knew how to do little else or make money from any other source of income. And just as soon as he slipped up and revealed himself, he’d gladly slit the treacherous little fucker’s throat himself.
First and foremost, though, he wanted Estelle. And if it meant letting David go for the time being and making him think that he’d gotten away with betraying one of Glasgow hardest and ruthless criminals then so be it. Luke would put everything he had on the line just to get a shot at taking Estelle out and this time he’d be fucking ready for her.
Luke’s phone began to ring as he squeezed and wrung more water out from another of his soaking wet cushions lying upon his drenched couch. By the Darth Vader, death march, ring tone, he knew exactly who was calling him. Perhaps his prayers had been answered after all.
Luke took the call on the second ring.
“Hello, Detective,” Luke said, smirking into the mouthpiece. “So, did you catch the bitch yet?”
Chapter 20
Estelle rode like a bat out of hell all the way through the city center again and back across to the west end of town. She was heading straight for Claremont Terrace on the edges of Kelvingrove Park. The huge steel-gated Georgian mansion wasn’t too hard to find with its big black-charcoaled number of forty-five displayed up high on the stone-pillared walls holding the tall solid gates aloft. It seemed like a fairly respectable and upmarket part of town. There didn’t seem to be too many other people around either. Just a couple of dog walkers in the quiet park opposite.
Estelle climbed off her bike right in front of the huge black gates. She had no plan of action in mind apart from to simply ring the buzzer, asking to see Clark, and then seeing what the hell happened after that. Whatever will be will. She had no time left for espionage or stakeouts. If they refused to answer her call, then she’d mount the gate or walls and inspect the premises for herself.
Estelle glanced left then right, half expecting to see or at least hear a few distant sirens from a police car or two on her tail due to her crazy and erratic biking antics throughout the city during the past half hour, but she couldn’t hear a thing. There was still time to see this through. Estelle approached the thick steel gates and pulled down the hood of her sweatshirt which still covered most of her head and hair. Curiously, her loose blonde hair was now tied back into a strange blonde bun at the back of head. A task she’d recently completed before arriving outside the mansion.
Perched on top of the right-hand pillar of the gate she noticed a tiny little camera which suddenly moved to the righ
t and pointed directly at her. So, someone was home and watching her every move at least. Slow and calm, Estelle placed her hands up into the air as she continued walking over towards the buzzer. When she reached it, she kept her left arm casually held up in the air as she gently pressed the thick grey buzzer with her other hand. After a short delay a deep and formal voice bellowed out from the speaker. It was one of Clark’s bodyguards from inside the house.
“How can I help you, miss?”
Estelle gave out a wry grin before glancing up at the camera.
“I’d like to speak to Mister Clark Wallace, if you please.”
“I’m sorry, miss, but Mr. Wallace is out of the country right now.”
Estelle continued to stare directly into the camera. She hadn’t even blinked once. She had a look on her face that said she wasn’t there to take no for an answer.
“Tell him that the older sister of Gayle Munroe is standing right outside his front gates and he’d better listen to what I have to say.”
Up on the first floor of Clark Wallace’s big old city house and inside a small and dark security room on the front, first floor side, an anxious-looking Clark stood beside a seated beefy-looking bodyguard. They were both watching Estelle with a deep and brooding curiosity on one of the dozen security screens scattered around the room, cameras that covered every square inch, inside and outside, of his entire mansion.
“Jesus Christ, she’s got balls. I’ll give her that,” an agitated Clark finally uttered. “Just rocking up here like she’s fucking Robocop. Or perhaps she’s just very, very stupid and naïve, underestimating who the fuck I am, just like her stupid little sister did.”
The bodyguard said nothing and continued to watch Estelle up on the main screen. Estelle remained eerily calm throughout the whole process, still standing casually beside the gates outside.
Cold Heart Page 21