On the Money

by Kerry J Donovan

  “Sorry,” she said, head lowered.

  Ryan hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her head gently. He smiled. “No need to apologise to me, love. But do hold that thought. I’ll explain everything after we’ve had our chat with Damian.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes. I promise. Okay, let’s go. Our audience awaits.”

  He helped her climb the hill to the waiting men where he shot out a hand to a flinching Rhino and said, “Thanks for the warning yesterday afternoon. Most appreciated.”

  After the initial recoil, Damian straightened and took Ryan’s hand briefly. Greeting over, a sheepish grin softened his expression, and he shot a hooded sideways glance at Lara. “Way I heard it, Mr Griffin, yo’ wife weren’t in as much danger as I feared. Seems she whooped Barcode’s ass, real good. Whole Tribe’s talkin’ ’bout it. Laughin’ they fool heads off, mostly.”

  “Nevertheless,” Ryan said, his expression still serious, “Mrs Griffin and I appreciate your efforts. You’ve proven yourself as worthy of our trust, and you’re presence here—alone—adds further proof.”

  Damian raised a hand almost as though he were in class, wanting to ask a question. “One thing, though. I … don’ really know how to say this.”

  “Speak up, Damian. You’re amongst friends. Sergeant Blake is one of my most trusted men.”

  Connor Blake gave no reaction to the compliment, but his eyes kept scanning the surrounding area. She’d never met the sergeant before, but she had read his military dossier and, according to it and to Ryan’s personal written appraisal, Connor Blake was the strong, silent, and dependable sort. His present demeanour, standing quiet guard over them, confirmed Ryan’s assessment perfectly.

  With Ryan and men like Connor in her corner, Lara allowed herself to relax a little.

  Damian tilted his head towards Connor and seemed to study him intently before continuing. “It’s just that, Barcode don’ react like most people. He weird, y’know?” Rhino tapped his temple with an index finger. “Touched in the head.”

  “We know.”

  “Just sayin’ you wanna watch out for him. Yo’ woman”—he winced and shook his head—“sorry, I mean, Mrs Griffin. She ain’t safe from him. Barcode won’t take kindly to being dissed none. He’ll be on fire to make up for what he lost, y’know? His respec’. Just sayin’ is all.”

  Ryan patted a hand in the space between them. “We appreciate the warning. You can rest assured that young Byron—”

  “Who?”

  “Byron Cordell. It’s Barcode’s real name.”

  “It is?”

  Ryan nodded. “It is, indeed.”

  “Never knew. Don’ look like no ‘Byron’ ta me.”

  “Nonetheless,” Ryan continued, “my wife is now under Sergeant Blake’s protection and, if you think I’m tough—”

  “I does,” Damian interrupted, rubbing the side of his neck. “I really does.”

  Ryan’s grin contained little mirth. “As I was saying, if you think I’m tough, Sergeant Blake makes me look like a wimp.”

  Lara didn’t miss the shake of Connor’s head, but since Damian was standing with his back to the sergeant, he wouldn’t have seen the movement.

  “But to anyone who asks, Connor Blake is a distant relative of Glenmore Davits, coming to pay his cousin Darwin a visit. Is that clear?”

  The young man dipped his head. “Sure ’nough. Ain’t no one gonna hear nothin’ from me about nothin’. You can trust me on that one. Take it to the bank.”

  Ryan stepped a little closer to the scarred man and dropped a hand on his shoulder.

  “You know, Damian?” he said, calmness and confidence clear in his tone, “I really think we can.” He lifted his hand from Rhino’s shoulder and pointed towards the reservoir’s main gates. “Now, since there’s no one else around to disturb us, let’s go find somewhere warm and bright for our conference, shall we? We passed a late-night coffee house on the way here. If you fancy it, I’ll stand you a latte.”

  He stepped back and, always on guard, allowed Damian to lead the way. Lara took up her position on Ryan’s left side, and Connor Blake assumed the role of rear gunner.

  She’d rarely felt more safe.

  Chapter 16

  Saturday 18th February – Lara Orchard

  Walthamstow, NE London

  00:40.

  After spending a large portion of the evening lying on the frozen earth, Lara reached the coffee house, cold to the core and unable to stop shivering. She expected to take time to acclimatise to the warmth of the place, but the aroma of freshly ground coffee and the internal glow of the drink itself, together with sticky buns—two pain aux raisins—soon did the trick. In fact, the high-calorie snack worked so well in generating internal heat, she struggled to stay awake, nestled next to Ryan in the farthest corner of the cosy little café.

  Before committing to enter the place, Ryan had sent Connor in for a quick reconnaissance. Once satisfied the shop was empty of customers and they had at least one secure exit, Ryan led them inside, where the heat and humidity caused Lara to melt into a bath of sweat under her heavy clothes. It also made the non-prescription glasses she wore to partially hide her hazel eyes, fog into opacity.

  While they waited in the entrance area, Ryan strode up to the service counter. He entered into a discrete and lightning-fast conversation with the barista, a thin-faced man in his late twenties with swarthy Mediterranean looks, and his slicked-back hair held in place in a ponytail.

  So 1980s.

  Ryan had slipped the barista two fifty-pound notes from his wallet, and placed the order they’d agreed to in the car on the way from the reservoir—four large Americanos and a trayful of assorted pastries.

  The barista turned away to work his magic and Ryan waved them inside, pointing to a booth in the farthest corner from the entrance. The booth was lined with bench seating surrounding a low table. Before sitting, Connor and Ryan removed the two high-backed armchairs that enclosed the booth making it a cosy little enclave—chairs that would have blocked their sightlines.

  Lara took her place in the corner, flanked by Connor and Ryan.

  As usual, Ryan sat with his back against a solid wall within easy access of the nearest point of egress—in this case, a door at the side of the building which led to the toilets and the fire exit.

  Ryan faced the main door, watching, always on guard. Connor sat at a right angle to Ryan, doing the same thing. Between the two of them, they had the whole coffee house covered. Despite the place being empty, Ryan would never lower his defences, not in public, and definitely not with Lara exposed to any potential danger.

  Lara loved Ryan for the way he protected her, and for the way he would risk his life or his freedom for anyone he saw as deserving. Even though she found it difficult to condone the way he’d deliver a terrible vengeance on anyone he considered worthy of the punishment, she grew more understanding of it the longer they spent together.

  Ryan’s moral certainty would beat any legal code ever written, and Lara trusted him completely.

  The low coffee table separated her from Damian, who sat hunched and brooding over his drink, barely having more than a sip now and again. His eyes never settled, but darted left and right, and he wilted under Ryan and Connor’s steely gaze. Still wearing his heavy coat, the only concession he’d given the stifling heat was to drop the hood and lower the zip to half-way. The square man seemed impervious to heat, but allergic to light, if his slouched, cowering demeanour was anything to go by.

  “Nice place,” Connor said, splitting his attention between Rhino and the entrance. “Cosy. You book it in advance, Captain?”

  “Yep. Mrs Griffin and I dropped in on the way to the reservoir. Armando normally closes at midnight since there’s not much late trade in this part of town. I encouraged him to stay open for a few hours. He’s a very amenable chap, is our Armando.”

  “Cost much?”

  “Not really.”

  “I saw the cen
tury you gave him. Not much for a private party. Cushty.”

  “Had to give him four hundred up front.”

  Connor waggled his head from side to side, “Gotcha. A monkey’s more like it for a gaff in this area.” He took another sip and smacked his lips. “Decent juice, too.”

  While the quiet conversation continued, probably designed to relax Damian, Lara finished her drink and signalled the barista for refills all around. Armando arrived, carrying a tray filled with their order. He set it on the coffee table and palmed another of Ryan’s banknotes into his back pocket—this one a twenty.

  “Thanks, Armando,” Ryan said. “Do you have somewhere out back you can crash for the next couple of hours?”

  The barista smiled knowingly and added a slight nod. “No worries, mate,” he said, his Aussie twang stretching out the vowels. “Take as long as you like. Storeroom’s got a bar fridge, a dunny, and a bunk. Give me a hoy when you’re done and I’ll lock up.”

  Once he’d disappeared through a door behind the bar, Connor refilled the cups and, turning his eyes on Damian, said, “Now that Armando Dundee’s out of the way, mind telling me what’s goin’ on, Captain? Your message was a little … terse. ‘I need your help,’ and some co-ordinates. You weren’t never one for wasting your words, sir.”

  A frowning Damian followed the conversation with barely hidden confusion. He didn’t have a clue who Ryan and Connor really were, but seemed happy to let them take the lead, providing they left any physical jousting out of the equation.

  Ryan ended his and Connor’s tête-à-tête with, “Full overview at base, Sergeant. Now let’s get down to business,” then pierced Damian with his sharpest stare.

  Lara almost felt sorry for the shuddering gang member.

  “For the benefit of Sergeant Blake, please repeat what you told me when we first met. Leave nothing out. We’re all friends here.”

  After a faltering start, and under Ryan’s crisp encouragement, Damian outlined the situation with the Tribe’s takeover by the enigmatic TM. He ended with, “Been a fuck—er, a disaster, it has. I woulda left the Tribe months ago if I thought I could make it out alive. Scared, I am. TM knows everythin’. If he … If he finds out I’s talkin’ to you, I a dead man. My woman and baby, too.”

  “So,” Ryan said, “why the warning text yesterday?”

  Truck headlights raked the café’s windows, illuminating all but their shadowy corner. Damian jerked in his chair. His frightened eyes followed the vehicle as it turned right at a set of traffic lights, headed along the empty road, and disappeared into the night. He relaxed tense neck muscles before answering.

  “What you said and what you did made me think you be as tough as TM an’ the Goons. Figured if I help you save yo’ wom—er, Mrs Griffin”—he slid Lara an apologetic glance—“I’s thinkin’ you’d remember and help me with my family.”

  The fact that Connor failed to react to Damian’s use of her cover name—both in the café and at the reservoir—explained why Ryan felt he could trust the quiet Londoner. He was clearly quick on the uptake and able to hold his tongue when necessary.

  “And how do you think I might do that, Damian?” Ryan asked.

  “I guess you plan to take over the ’hood?”

  “Do you?”

  The gang member lowered his head and looked at Ryan through darkened eyes. “You ain’t?”

  Ryan tilted his head. “You don’t need to worry about my organisation’s intentions towards the Tribe, Damian, old chap. Let’s just say this. If you play it right by us, we’ll do the same by you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You have my word. If you want to dig yourself out from under this mound of doggy do-do, I’ll provide the shovel. And, as a parting gift, we’ll even add enough shekels to help you start a new and comfortable life with Ariel and the little one.”

  “You will?”

  “We will.”

  “What I gotta do ta earn the shovel and the paper?”

  “Simple. All we need is your help to identify Top Man and—”

  Damian almost dropped his mug onto the coffee table. He half-rose but stopped when Ryan raised a hand and pointed him back into his chair.

  “Sit!”

  Damian dropped back into his seat and landed like a sack of loose potatoes.

  “You want I should finger TM? No way, man. Can’t be done. No way. Too fuckin’ dangerous. People who cross TM disappear when he wants them to disappear, and turn up again only if TM want to make a statement.”

  “Don’t worry, Damian. We’re not asking you to do anything dangerous. We just need some intelligence. Information to help us take down the big player. Once we have the head of the snake in the bag, the rest will be a simple matter of logistics.”

  Connor leaned forwards, elbows on knees, chin resting on his interlaced fingers, nodding his encouragement. If Lara didn’t know better, he and Ryan might have choreographed their moves in advance.

  For her part, Lara remained as still as possible, trying to keep her face expressionless, showing outward calm while her insides boiled. How could Ryan and Connor be so fearless? They were talking about taking on a gang with goodness knew how many members. Two men and her against maybe dozens of men, and they had no idea how well they were armed.

  No. What was she thinking?

  Ryan would no more allow her into a dangerous situation than he would turn his back on Darwin Moore. He would most likely order Connor to protect her and take on the Tribe alone.

  What was she going to do? How could she turn things around?

  She’d call Rollo and Danny. Maybe they could talk some sense into their old boss. But no, who was she trying to fool? They’d never go against his orders. Every one of Ryan’s old colleagues would do exactly as he asked them. And worse, Ryan would never forgive her for interfering.

  No, she’d have to think of another way. She’d help, no matter what the personal cost. But she’d have to do it without letting Ryan know anything about her interference. After all, she’d proved her worth against Barcode. She wasn’t some weak-willed heroine in a Victorian novel needing to be saved by the devastatingly handsome leading man.

  However, truth be told, Ryan Kaine was the devastatingly handsome hero in her life.

  Darn it … really nice in this café. Warm and cosy …

  Her eyelids drooped, and she struggled to keep them open.

  “I ain’t no James Bond,” Damian protested, snapping Lara out of her dream world and returning her to the coffee house. “I already tol’ you, Mr Griffin, TM untouchable. Don’ even think Demarcus Williams know who he is. Leastways, that what the boys reckon.”

  Ryan nodded his understanding and paused for a moment before speaking again. “This comms link of his, how is it initiated?”

  “Huh?”

  “How does Demarcus Williams contact TM? And how does he know when TM has a message to deliver to the Tribe?”

  Damian shrugged. “Hell if I know. Happens dif’rent days of the week, but always at eight o’clock in the evenin’. I got no idea how TM talk to Demarcus Williams or the other way ’round. Prob’ly by mobile, but I ain’t never seen them converse.”

  Connor spoke for the first time in ages. “You’re certain Williams and TM are two different people? He’s not one and the same person, playing games?”

  Rhino paused for a moment, his frown deepening in thought. “Nah. Thought that same thing mesself early on. But it ain’t possible. Way everyone talk at the same time and answer TM’s questions it can’t be a recordin’ or nothin’.”

  “And Williams is always in the room when TM’s on the monitor?” Lara asked, unable to keep out of the interrogation and needing to add her input to keep awake.

  Ryan’s brief nod told Lara it was okay for her to contribute.

  Again, Damian shrugged and, again, his head tilted to one side as he did so. Without doubt, the serious scar tissue restricted free movement of his neck. It was clear from the way he resorted to turning his shoulders
as much as his head when looking from Connor to Ryan, that his injury was causing significant discomfort. The evidence was clear. Medical care in Her Majesty’s Prison system left plenty to be desired.

  If things worked out the way she hoped, and if Damian proved as helpful as Ryan clearly expected, maybe they could release some funds to provide reconstructive surgery. Long way to go before that could be a consideration, though.

  “Nah,” Damian said after a while. “Can’t remember a time when Demarcus Williams weren’t in the room when TM were on the big screen. The boys and me think Demarcus Williams and the other Goons are watchin’ the Tribesman and reportin’ any trouble to TM after.”

  “See?” Ryan said. “You’re already providing confirmation of the information we’ve received from our primary informant. That in itself makes you a valuable backup resource.”

  Connor’s expression remained unchanged, but a slight catch in his breath confirmed he had no idea about Ryan’s phantom second inside man. The minute they parted company with Damian, the three of them needed to have an in-depth discussion—the thing military personnel called a “debrief”.

  Lara worked hard to hide the smirk that formed when she thought of Ryan without his briefs. Her mind was wandering.

  Lord, but she was struggling to fight the fatigue. Really struggling.

  How could Ryan stay so alert for so long? He’d been up since dawn this morning. No, since dawn the previous morning.

  She covered her mouth to hide a yawn.

  Darn it, Lara, Stay awake. Don’t let Ryan down.

  For the first time since she’d seen Damian, his customary scowl softened. Compliments, it seemed, worked as well on gang members as they did on anyone else. Damian’s shoulders straightened and he sat up taller in his chair.

  “Hey Mr Griffin, I don’ know who else you got workin’ for you in the Tribe, but they ain’t no way as good as me. Ain’t gonna get you as much info as me. If you promised him the same deal as you made me and Ariel, he won’t have the same motivation as me, neither.”