by Carys Jones
Rumours felt nothing like the clubs Amanda had dared to visit back home. Those had also been full of shadows, but the people who danced within them seemed more… real. The people within Rumours looked like they’d fallen out of the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue. They were beautiful, exotic.
‘This is definitely where McAllister will be.’ Shane was still standing, glancing between the dance floor and the bar.
‘You think so?’ Amanda had to shout to be heard over the pulse of the music blasting out from the DJ booth, which was so loud it felt like it was replacing her own heartbeat echoing in her ears.
‘This place seems exclusive.’
Amanda arched an eyebrow at him which made Shane grin. He flashed her a boyish smile and leaned in close. Close enough for his cheek to graze against her as he whispered in her ear, ‘Don’t worry darling, I’ve got eyes for no one but you tonight.’ She knew he was teasing, but as he walked away towards the bar Amanda was still blushing.
The music kept pounding as the beauties danced. The air was thick with the lingering scent of stale beer laced with overpowering perfume. It was the kind of aroma which sunk into your clothes so that you ended up wearing it long after you’d left the club. Amanda drummed her fingertips against the table and waited on Shane. She kept darting her gaze around the club, peering into each shadowy corner. And then she saw him.
It took a second for her mind to catch up with her eyes. But there was no mistaking that the man sat on the other side of the club in what appeared to be a raised VIP area was Gregg McAllister.
He was in the centre of a booth like the one Amanda was sat in, only his had plump purple fabric instead of red. And his booth and two others were higher than any of the others in the club and two burly security men in black suits with earpieces lingered close by, flanking a red velvet rope which one of them occasionally moved away to allow one of the women from the dance floor to sashay over to McAllister.
He was surrounded by women, wearing a dark grey suit and clutching a glass of what looked like whisky in one hand. His black hair was slicked back and when he laughed, which he did often, it was easy to miss the telltale scars which gave him away. But when his face was resting, when he looked thoughtful, the long scars which pulled away from the corners of his mouth and crudely extended up towards his cheeks were obvious, even in the dim light of the club.
There was no doubt that he was handsome in a suave way. He exuded rugged charm, but in his suit he was the picture of old-school elegance, like Cary Grant in old Hollywood movies. He moved with ease, with confidence. The more people around him, the more animated and illuminated he became. He was like a black hole – stealing the light of all those nearby as he drew them close.
Amanda’s heartbeat became too quick, too erratic. She could feel herself growing hot, her palms slick with sweat. This was the man who had hunted down her husband. This was the man who had taken her perfect life and shattered it.
Amanda thought of a snow globe she’d once broken. It had happened during a winter when the snow had come in thick, icy storms and settled waist-deep even in villages along the coast. A cool mist had settled atop the sea and didn’t leave for weeks. The globe had sat on the mantelpiece in her mother’s living room. In it there was a beautifully ornate little gingerbread house and when you turned the globe upside down and then righted it again the house was in the midst of its own snowstorm. You could even wind a gear on the base of the globe to have it play ‘The Christmas Song’. Amanda had loved that globe. But that particularly cold year she’d gotten a Nintendo Wii and during a very boisterous game of tennis with Shane she’d knocked the globe flying off the mantle. It smashed against the dark wood of the floor, its precious liquid seeping out, the beautiful snow clotting in lumps.
‘It’s ruined,’ Amanda had wailed as she scooped up shards of glass and stared down at them in dismay.
‘The house is still okay,’ Shane had knocked any remaining glass off and showed her that the little gingerbread house still stood. But it had lost its protective glass dome, its own personal snowstorm, its magic.
‘Yes, but being just the house isn’t the same,’ Amanda had shook her head woefully. ‘It’s ruined.’
‘One gin and tonic,’ Shane placed her drink in front of her before sitting down. He sipped his Jack Daniels and Coke and then noticed her troubled expression. ‘Amanda, you all right?’
‘He’s here,’ Amanda nodded in the direction of McAllister and the bevvy of beauties who filled up the booth around him. They laughed along with him and seductively stroked their hands up his legs, along his shoulders, as though he were some sort of idol to them. ‘That’s him.’ Amanda reached for her drink and consumed its contents in one single gulp, then she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and continued to stare at the suited McAllister. ‘That’s the man who broke my snow globe.’
6
That night, Amanda saw Gregg McAllister when she closed her eyes. She lay in her hotel room, her body stiff, as she remembered the way he threw his head back with jovial abandon, how he laughed so heartily that his whole body shook. He had been the life of the party, the light source which everyone was drawn to. No one cowered when he raised a hand to make a point, no one paled when he locked eyes with them. To the people in the club, Gregg McAllister was not a monster, he was simply a man. And a popular one at that.
Is that how he’d once lured a young and impressionable Will, back when he’d been Jake, into his cause? Had Amanda’s late husband watched McAllister in clubs with envious eyes, wishing he had his money, his success?
McAllister was a man in his late forties, early fifties. A man who was wealthy, powerful. Popular. A man who elevated himself to be something more than his peers.
Shane hadn’t been impressed by the suited man with the Glasgow smile. ‘He certainly fits the profile,’ he’d muttered as he drew his glass up towards his lips. He’d looked unsettled. Did he too feel sickened to gaze upon the man behind Will’s murder? McAllister hadn’t been there, his finger hadn’t been on the trigger of the gun which fired the killing shot, but Amanda knew it might as well have been.
At some point, Amanda’s troubled thoughts drifted into dreams. She was back home, walking along the cliffside with her father next to her. Though she was grown, he was frozen in time, forever forty-five. They walked together in an easy silence as a salty breeze blew in from the ocean and whipped through their hair. Amanda joyfully filled her lungs with the crisp, clean air. In the distance she saw someone running, moving away from them. Looking at the dark hair and broad shoulders, her heart gave a squeeze as she instantly knew it was Will. Amanda started hurrying after him. She broke into a sprint as Will kept running, kept moving away from her.
‘Will!’ she yelled for him in between breaths as she kept sprinting. ‘Will!’
A hand grabbed her arm, forcing her to a halt. Amanda spun around and looked into the kind eyes of her father.
‘You can keep running,’ he said, ‘but you’ll never catch him.’
‘Amanda?’
She felt pressure on her arm. Real pressure. With a gasp, she opened her eyes. A soft grey light covered the hotel room. It was morning. Turning her head, she saw Shane sat up beside her, one hand still on her arm which he’d been shaking.
‘You were having a nightmare,’ he said apologetically. ‘You kept calling out Will’s name.’
‘Oh.’ The dream was still in the room, still fogging up her thoughts. Why had Will been running from her? And why couldn’t she catch him?
‘Why don’t you shower while I go grab us some breakfast?’ Shane suggested kindly, already slipping off the bed and pulling on a jumper and jeans.
‘Sure, thanks.’ Amanda rubbed at her eyes, she wanted to retreat back into the dream, wanted to ask her father what she should do. Because he always knew best, always knew which direction she should take with her life. But he was gone, just like Will.
*
During her reconnaissance miss
ion to the club, Amanda had learned several things about Gregg McAllister. He was clearly social and well-liked by those around him. He liked to drink. Amanda hadn’t lingered in the club for long after sighting her target but during that time he’d drained several glass tumblers of whisky and eagerly gestured to a waiter for more. But more than drink, McAllister liked beautiful women. Each time a fresh face twisted out some moves on the dance floor he’d call them over to his booth, draw them into the fold.
‘So which way is our in?’ Amanda asked, looking thoughtfully at Shane. They were back in the Starbucks just down from their hotel. It was late morning and the bodies inside had thinned out so that only a handful of tables were occupied. Amanda had been sipping on the same cappuccino for almost forty minutes.
‘Our in?’
‘Ideally I need to get close enough to him to get to his phone. If I could clone it I could access to all his files. His contacts.’
‘And how are you going to get close enough to him to relieve him of his phone?’ Shane sounded annoyed. ‘If your plan is to get a job at the club and pinch it at the coat check, I’m not sure time is on our side.’
‘He likes his drink. He likes his women.’ Amanda listed the facts off on her long fingers.
‘So at this point he’s pretty much your average guy.’
‘But one of those has to create an in for us.’
Shane leaned back in his chair and gave her a long, levelled look. He clearly already knew where she was going with the conversation. ‘No,’ he concluded flatly, his jaw clenching.
‘Just let me—’
‘No. Absolutely not.’
‘But, Shane—’
‘You are not tarting yourself up to get that man’s attention. Why the hell would you even want to do that?’
‘To get to his phone,’ Amanda deadpanned. ‘That’s the goal.’
‘Is it?’
‘If I can clone his phone, I can give Turtle all the information they’d need to take him down. I’m sure of it.’
‘Watching McAllister is one thing,’ Shane lowered his voice, ‘but engaging with him… Christ, Amanda, do you have any idea how dangerous that is? The man’s a criminal. A killer. And for all you know he already knows exactly what you look like.’
‘It’s a risk I have to take.’
‘Amanda,’ he sighed her name and looked down at his hands in despair.
‘I’m doing this.’
‘You always do this. You always take things too far.’ Shane had tears in his eyes.
‘Do you have a better idea of how to get his phone? Should we mug him in the street? Do you want to shadow him when he goes to take a piss? My plan is the one least likely to get us both killed.’
Shane said nothing. Amanda took his silence as compliance.
*
Now that Amanda had a plan she wasn’t sure how comfortable she felt about following through with it. She was in a department store across from Starbucks browsing the racks of their more fashionable designer section. Shane had sulked off back to the hotel, heading to the gym to work out his frustrations. Amanda was glad to be alone. As she eyed a short leather skirt, she knew that if Shane had accompanied her on her little shopping trip he’d just have vetoed every outfit. Amanda needed to do more than blend in at the club the next time she went – she needed to catch McAllister’s eye and that wasn’t going to be easy. The club had been packed full of gorgeous women, all of them slim and doe-eyed.
A red sequined top with a plunging neckline caught Amanda’s eye. She grabbed her size and held it against the leather skirt. She feared that the combination would make her look more cabaret than sexy. With a sigh, she placed the garments back and kept searching, drifting amongst the clothes racks like a piece of tumbleweed.
Clothes shopping was certainly not her forte. She always opted for function over fashion. Her mother, on the other hand, would have been in her element. She’d have cooed over every item that sparkled, held up countless dresses against Amanda insisting that her daughter would look fabulous in each and every one. Corrine loved to shop, loved to accessorise with anything that twinkled. Amanda had inherited her father’s pragmatism when it came to clothes. She wished that her mother was there to guide her, or at the very least pick out an outfit which would make her look more seductress than stripper.
Thinking about her mother made a thread of guilt knot its way across her chest and creep up her throat. She should call home. Pulling out her mobile, Amanda quickly figured out what time it was in Vegas and withheld her number before selecting the landline for the little cottage by the coast. Her mum answered after four rings.
‘Hello?’ Corrine sounded uncertain, caught off guard.
‘Mum, hey, it’s me.’
‘Oh, Amanda,’ instant jubilation on the other end of the line. ‘It’s so lovely to hear from you, sweetheart. We were just wondering how you were, weren’t we?’
For a split second she assumed Corrine was referring to Amanda’s father. That had been the ‘we’ which dominated her early life. But of course the old woman was talking about Ewan. Cracking a smile, Amanda wandered towards a clothes rack filled with cocktail dresses.
‘I hope he’s behaving for you, Mum. Not being too much trouble.’
‘Not at all,’ Corrine insisted brightly. Then, lowering her voice, ‘I managed to convince him to move on to some of the old movies you loved when you were little. I even dusted off the video player and hooked it back up.’
‘Way to go, Mum.’
‘He’s been loving the American tale with the mouse. And Land Before Time. Oh and Labyrinth,’ Corrine’s voice was rosy with nostalgia. ‘He’s loved them all, Amanda. Just like you used to. I told him that, tonight, if he keeps being a good boy, we’ll watch Dark Crystal. Your father always loved that one.’
Amanda was surprised that her mother had kept the old stack of VHS movies that she’d watched repeatedly as a little girl every rainy afternoon after school.
‘How’s Vegas?’
The question drew Amanda back from the past.
‘It’s…’ She looked around at the department store, at the high ceilings and well-lit displays. ‘Very hot. And busy.’
‘Is your hotel nice?’
‘Lovely.’
‘What time is it there?’
‘Very early. I’m just about to head down to breakfast.’
‘And Shane? How’s he?’
‘He’s gone to the hotel gym for a bit.’ It felt good to be including some truths in her response.
‘That sounds about right. He’s become such a dedicated young man, always taking himself and his fitness seriously.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘And you two,’ Amanda heard a door close on her mother’s end of the line. ‘How are things between you?’
‘They’re… complicated. It’s all just difficult, Mum.’
‘I see.’ Corrine sounded disappointed, but she quickly recovered. ‘I wanted to ask if there was anything I could be doing to help with the funeral. I assume it will happen when you’re back.’
‘Funeral?’
‘For Will.’
Amanda circled the cocktail dresses twice, pulling in nervous breaths and willing herself not to cry. She hadn’t even thought about a funeral. About letting his boss at the warehouse know that Will wouldn’t be showing up for his next shift. Or any shift. To start going through the process of tying up loose ends, it felt too final.
‘The funeral will be in Scotland. A very small affair since he has no family left.’ Amanda coughed to clear her throat. Will deserved a funeral, a proper burial, but he wouldn’t be getting one. There had been nothing in the news about a trio of bodies discovered in woodlands. McAllister must have gotten there first and Amanda didn’t even want to consider how he’d have chosen to dispose of the bodies.
‘I see.’
‘I’m coming back from Vegas a day early to attend. And then I’m coming home.’
‘I know this is a very difficult,
very confusing time for you, sweetheart.’
‘It sure is.’
‘I’m just glad you’ve had Shane by your side through it all.’
‘Yeah,’ Amanda agreed softly. ‘Me too.’
*
Amanda eventually decided on a black cocktail dress and peep-toe shoes which had red soles and promised to give her maximum comfort, at least according to the enthusiastic sales guy in the footwear department.
When Amanda returned to the hotel room, Shane was sat on the bed watching TV. His head shot up when she walked in and though she saw relief in his eyes his mouth remained held in a tight line.
‘How was the gym?’ she wondered politely as she dropped her bags down beside the desk.
‘You been shopping?’
‘I had to get a more… appropriate outfit.’
Shane grunted and said nothing more.
‘I called my Mum and she’s good. She said that Ewan is good too. He’s found some of my old videos and—’
‘I’m going to shower,’ Shane leapt off the bed as though the covers had suddenly caught on fire.
‘Shane—’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t be long. Then you can take all the time you want to preen and make sure you look real nice. We need our bait to work after all.’ He slammed the door behind him as he disappeared into the bathroom.
Dejected, Amanda went over to her laptop. She knew that Shane had every right to be mad at her but she wasn’t about to back down. McAllister needed to be brought to justice and if she had to smear on some lipstick and show a little leg to do that then so be it. She was just playing the hand she’d been dealt as best as she could.
On her laptop, Amanda quickly ordered a few items from Vegas to be delivered to the hotel. Souvenirs for her Mum and Ewan. Items to help solidify her story that she’d spent these two weeks in the gambling capital of the world. Pictures were going to be an issue, which was why Amanda planned on sabotaging her phone on the way home, thus opportunely losing any pictures she might have taken whilst on holiday.