Topspin

by Soliman, W.

  “So they’re in there with her, then?”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “Can we get in?”

  “It is possible, but it’ll be tricky, Jack. The club’s in an old warehouse close to the market in Surrey Street. There’s an iron fire escape running up the back of the building, but even Kevin wouldn’t be stupid enough not to have it covered.”

  “Yeah, but if that’s the only way there is, then we’ll just have to create a diversion of some sort and give it a go. Don’t forget he’s not expecting me until tomorrow.”

  “Don’t count on it. He might have delayed calling you until he thought the ferries had stopped running, but he’s even more of a moron than he used to be if he hasn’t considered the possibility of you getting to the mainland by other means.” Cyril rolled his eyes, his expression chilling. “Nabbing a woman and child in a club owned by me. I ask you, Jack, has he got a death wish, or what?” Jack knew Cyril’s question was rhetorical so didn’t bother to answer it. “Anyway, let’s make sure Tania’s still in her flat before we make any decisions.” He dialed a number on his mobile and spoke to someone called Frederick. “Shit!” he said when he ended the call. “Frederick says she’s not there anymore. She phoned him half an hour ago to say that the boy had taken a turn for the worse and she was on her way to the hospital with him.”

  “Damn!” Jack thumped his thigh, his jaw taut with tension. “That means they could be anywhere. It doesn’t surprise me, though. They’d have to be suicidal to kidnap my wife and then hold her in your club, Cyril. They must know it’s the first place I’d look, and they must assume as well that I’d tell you about the abduction.”

  “Yeah, well, nothing those wankers do surprises me. They came to me, yer know, after the business with Patel and seemed to think I’d take their side.” Cyril shook his head. “Anyway, I guess they reckon they have a score to settle with me as well, and mixing with the Turks seems to have fucked up what few brain cells they did have.”

  “So, what do we do now?” Jack asked.

  “Find them, I suppose, but Christ knows how. I sent Frederick upstairs to make sure Tania wasn’t still there, but he says the place is deserted. He also said it was a complete mess, which is most unlike Tania.” Jack nodded. Tania was one of the tidiest people he knew. Or at least she used to be. “People had been in there though, and recently. There were empty beer bottles and a full ashtray, dirty plates in the sink and stuff. Tania hates smoking and wouldn’t let anyone light up in front of Dimitri by choice.”

  “Wouldn’t she have had to pass through the club to get out?”

  “Nah, they’d have taken them down the fire escape. She and Frederick always talk in Russian, and my guess is it made Kevin nervous. He’d have been worried they were planning something, which is precisely how I intended to get through to her when we got here.” He thumped the side of his seat in frustration. “The bastards have wised up a bit since going over to the Turks.” Cyril turned and scowled at Pete. “Okay, dickhead, you got them into this mess, so now’s your opportunity to redeem yourself. Where will they have taken them?”

  “I’ve been thinking about nothing else ever since I heard what happened, trying to remember if Celia’s ever said anything that might lend a clue.”

  “Now wouldn’t be a good time to develop amnesia.”

  “Give him a chance to think,” Jack said, aware how difficult it would be for anyone to focus when Cyril was in the mood to issue the sort of threats that made Tyson salivate.

  “Well, there is one thing I’ve remembered, but I’m not sure how much help it’ll be. I think she once mentioned that Wilf’s in-laws from his first marriage have a place in this neck of the woods and that he’d stayed in it a few times.”

  “Fat lot of fucking use that is,” Cyril said, “if we don’t know where that place is.”

  Jack blinked as he thought for a moment. “It could explain why they chose this area, though,” he said. “What with Tania being here already, and their knowing someone that could be useful to them.”

  “Yeah, but they can hardly foist two hostages on a couple who don’t presumably have Wilf on the top of their Christmas card list since he dumped their daughter.”

  “True,” Pete said, “but I seem to recall these people spend a lot of the year in Spain. If so, their house would be empty, but they wouldn’t expect us to even know about it, much less be able to track it down.”

  “That’s the problem, though,” Cyril said. “We don’t have a clue how to track it down.”

  “Do you know their surname?” Jack asked.

  “Burrows, I think, because I remember Sally Burrows before she was stupid enough to tie the knot with Wilf.”

  Jack got straight on the phone to his contact. “It’s Jack, and this one’s urgent. I think the targets might be holed up somewhere in Croydon in a house owned by someone named Burrows. No idea where, but I need to find out, like, yesterday. I also need to know if Burrows is paying full council tax on the place or if it’s registered as a second home.”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  “Good thinking, Jack.” Cyril nodded his approval. “Come on, let’s wait in the car, and as soon as the call comes we can get moving.”

  “Use mine,” Jack said.

  Cyril slid into the passenger seat of Jack’s Jaguar. Tyson took up most of the back seat, squashing Pete into a corner. Not a word was spoken inside the car as they waited. The drumming of Cyril’s fingers on the armrest and the occasional cracking of Tyson’s knuckles were the only sounds to intrude upon the unnatural silence. Jack was impressed when his phone rang again just ten minutes later.

  “Got a pen?” his contact asked. “Here’s the address.”

  “We’re going to South Norwood.” Jack programmed the address into his SatNav and starting the engine. “And the house is registered as a second home, so the odds are that if there are any lights on, it won’t be the owners in there.”

  “God, will you look at that,” Cyril said as they drove through Croydon’s town center. A bevy of teenage girls were weaving their way down the street, drunk as skunks, flashing their tits at every car that passed and cracking up with laughter at the responses they got. A group of lads was pursuing them, one of whom had stopped to throw up in the gutter. “Look at the state of them, and it ain’t even midnight yet. Is it any wonder our country’s gone down the pan if that’s the best the next generation has to offer?”

  “We’re here.” Jack pulled into a quiet street full of terraced houses overlooking a small park. The houses were all situated at the top of steep flights of steps, which gave those inside an advantage. They’d easily be able to see anyone approaching the front of the houses. “Look for number seventeen.”

  “Over there,” Tyson said.

  Jack pulled up a little further down the road. All four of them peered across at the house, encouraged to see that the lights were on and a car was parked by the gate, blocking the entrance to the garage. Jack extracted a powerful pair of binoculars with night vision from his glove box and took a good look through them at the target house.

  “If it’s a holiday place, and assuming they haven’t rented it out,” Jack said, “then I reckon we’ve found them. Still, let’s make sure.” He trained the binoculars on the number plate of the car outside the house. It agreed with the one his contact had given him earlier. “We’ve got ’em,” he said grimly.

  “So what’s the plan, Jack?” Cyril asked. “This is your show. How do you want to play it?”

  But Jack wasn’t listening. Instead his hands were shaking and his heart lurched painfully. He’d just seen a small figure at the front window of the target house, pulling back the curtains and peering out into the night as though he could sense that something was about to go down. He was whisked away almost immediately.

  Even so, Jack had caught his first ever glimpse of his young son’s profile.

  Chapter Sixteen

  CONVERSATIONS ABRUPTLY TAPERED OFF as Joe walk
ed into the bar with Angela and his son. Claire’s hasty exit hadn’t gone unobserved, or Jack’s either, and had become the red hot topic of conversation. Surely there couldn’t be trouble in a marriage they all thought had been made in heaven?

  “There’s something about Claire I’ve never liked or trusted,” Millie said glibly. “She always seemed a little too good to be true. And as for the way Jack sniffs round her the moment Joe isn’t about…well, it was always going to end in tears.”

  Stella, to whom this remark had been addressed, acted as though Millie hadn’t spoken.

  “If he ever comes on the market again,” said one of Millie’s cohorts, smacking her lips as she stared at Joe with a calculated expression, “if we were ever to get that lucky, I give you due warning, ladies, it’ll be every woman for herself.”

  The sight of Joe’s ravaged face was grist to the rumor mill, prompting an exchange of significant glances, raised eyebrows, and wildly inaccurate conjectures. Few people were looking anywhere other than directly at Joe, and Colin’s reaction to his arrival went unnoticed by the masses. Up until then he’d been in excellent form, relaxed and flirtatious, talking about the new project and what a financial windfall it would be for the members. Then he glanced around to see what everyone was looking at, saw Joe holding him in a death-watch glare, and visibly paled.

  Colin quickly looked away, and Joe could see him struggling to maintain a relaxed pose. Joe’s unexpected arrival had occurred too soon for Claire to have had the time to cover up the evidence of her activities, and he had to be wondering if Joe knew who’d been with her. Joe curled his lip disdainfully. Let the bastard sweat! He headed toward Trina, Karl, and the rest of their set who were seated together as far away from Ed as was geographically possible.

  “Are you all right, Joe?” Trina frowned as she moved along to make space for him.

  He shrugged. “I’ve had better days.”

  “Anything we can do?”

  “No, thanks, Trina.” He took a deep breath and turned toward Angie. “Okay, are you ready to do this?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  Joe patted her shoulder, impatiently shaking a lock of hair out of his eyes as he tapped a spoon against the side of his glass.

  “If I could have your attention for a moment, please,” he said. But it was hardly necessary because every face was already turned toward him in voyeuristic expectation.

  “Surely he isn’t going to announce to the entire bar that Jack and Claire have run off together,” Millie said to no one in particular, her eyes gleaming with spiteful anticipation.

  “You’ve all been hearing about Ed’s ambitious plans for our little club, and I dare say some of you are tempted to get involved.” Some of the women exchanged disappointed glances. “Fifteen thousand pounds is a lot of money. I understand that. But have you considered why Mr. Brady is so keen to sell it to you all?”

  “He explained that,” said a voice. “He’s bought a share in the freehold because he thinks it’s a great investment opportunity.”

  “A share, is it?” Joe raised a brow. “Actually, I think you’ll find it’s a little more than just a share. Ed has a forty-nine percent shareholding in the new company that’s been set up in the Cayman Islands to manage the project.” A rumble of indignation rippled through the crowd.

  “It’s no secret,” Ed said, bristling. “If anyone had asked me about my exact holding, I’d have told them. Don’t go all moody on me, Joe, just because I recognized a good deal when I saw it and had the balls to go for it.”

  “I’m sure your testicles are of admirable proportions.” The ensuing laughter caused Ed’s face to turn an angry shade of crimson. “But if it’s no secret, why the offshore company?”

  “Oh, that was my partner’s idea. Nothing to do with me.”

  “Ah yes, I’m glad you’ve brought him into things. Ed’s partner, in case any of you were wondering, his majority shareholding partner, is one Paul Aston. Now, Mr. Aston is making himself scarce for reasons best known to himself, but he’s an old acquaintance of Angie’s and she can vouch for the fact that he made his money originally through illicitly peddling pornography.”

  Angela nodded her head. “It’s true,” she said, raising her voice to make herself heard above a cacophony of shocked voices.

  Joe knew what this was costing her emotionally and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, noticing that it was shaking badly. Before leaving Joe’s room, she’d said that she was determined to expose Paul for what he was, provided they kept Rod’s involvement out of it. Not for Rod’s sake, or her own, but for the sake of her children.

  “Is that the sort of man you would want to take money from?” Joe asked.

  More rumblings and head-shakings. He noticed that Ed wasn’t doing anything to try to recover ground. He was simply staring blankly at Joe, for once speechless.

  “That’s an easy accusation to make, but probably not so easy to prove,” said someone.

  “Oh, I can prove it,” Angela said. “Mr. Aston’s business premises were raided by the police on a regular basis—”

  “An occupational hazard,” suggested some wit, to muted laughter.

  “Quite. That’s precisely how he viewed the situation and he knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be shut down altogether. But he was saved in the end from doing time by his bare-faced cheek.”

  “No pun intended, presumably?” called out a voice from the back.

  “What saved him?” asked someone else.

  “Well, trade was rather brisk because sex always sells, and he’d formed a legitimate company as cover for his main earner. It got to the stage where he needed to register for tax, and when filling in the forms he decided on a whim to test his theory that the porn side of his trade was, in fact, legal too.” When Angela paused to draw breath the silence was almost deafening. She had their complete attention. “And so,” Angela said casually, “he stated his occupation on the forms as Pornographer.”

  “You’re having a laugh,” someone said.

  “If I was going to make something up, I think I could be more inventive than that.” Angela spread her hands and waited for the hubbub to subside. “You know what they say about truth being stranger than fiction. I promise you, it’s as true as I’m standing here. Not only that but it was responsible for keeping Mr. Aston out of jail when he was arrested for the fourth time.”

  Joe looked at the rapt expressions on the members’ faces and knew she’d got them in the palm of her hand. At least for now.

  “When the magistrate asked him if there was any reason why he shouldn’t be sent down, he explained that as the Treasury appeared happy to accept the tax he paid on his ill-gotten gains, he didn’t see that he was doing anything illegal. At least not anything they could prove.” She waited until the incredulous exclamations and isolated bouts of laughter had died down. “The magistrate had no choice but to agree with him, once he’d checked he was telling the truth, of course, and had to let him go.”

  “Sorry, love,” said someone else, “but I just don’t buy it. It’s obvious that you passionately don’t want us to sell, so it’s easy to make up stories to try to put us off. But something like this…well, it’s just too surreal.”

  Several people mumbled their agreement and Joe sensed the tide was turning against them. These people were so keen to get their hands on the money being offered that they didn’t give a toss how some bloke they’d never met had made his wedge.

  “I think we know Angela too well to think she’d lie to us,” Joe said, the smooth voice of the distinguished consultant effortlessly restoring order. He was aware of Sheba and Malik staring open-mouthed at their mother and tried not to feel guilty about exposing them to such tawdriness. “But it should be easy enough to find out for sure. It must be a matter of public record.”

  “Why would a bloke who’d never set foot in Porchfield put so much money into it, then, if it ain’t a good deal?” asked someone.

  “No one sai
d it wasn’t a potentially good deal,” countered Joe, “but good for whom, that’s what you need to ask yourselves. Ed and Paul stand to make millions out of the scheme, but only if you lot agree to sell up cheap. That’s the gamble they’ve taken and that’s why they’re putting you under so much pressure. But have you thought about what they’re offering you in return?”

  “Fifteen thousand quid each,” said a voice from the back. “Put like that, it doesn’t seem like such a good deal.” Several others voiced their agreement.

  “And by the way,” Joe said, “Aston has been to the club.”

  “When?” asked one of the bar-flies who treated the country club as a second home and prided himself on knowing the background of just about everyone who set foot in the place. “I haven’t seen any strangers around recently.”

  “Do you remember our tournament last month when one court was out of action for repairs?” Joe relegated to the back of his mind thoughts of how happy he’d been with Claire that day. “One of the crew doing the work, a tall black man who seemed more interested in what was happening elsewhere rather than in his work. One or two of you commented upon his strange behavior afterward, I recall.” A few people nodded. “Well, that was Mr. Aston.”

  “Even if it’s true, I still don’t see what’s wrong with that,” Ed said truculently.

  “Quite right,” said someone else. “If I was going to invest a load of dosh in a place, I’d want to get a good look at what was on offer first.”

  “Sure, but why go undercover like that? He wasn’t trying to buy it as a going concern.” Joe paused. “Personally, I think he was trying to get a good look at the members, us being the key to the success of his plan. He knew most of us would be there on tournament day and wanted to size us up and decide if he was likely to be able to bring us round.”

  “That makes sense, I suppose.”

  “It might make sense, but I take exception to being looked over like goods on sale in a shop window.” Rumbles of agreement echoed through the room. “Sell if you want to,” Joe said, “but don’t say afterward that you weren’t warned you’re being ripped off. If I were you, given what they stand to make, I’d demand at least fifty thousand a share before even thinking about selling.”