Godsend_a gripping, fast-paced thriller

by J. A. Marley

  They would spot a weakness in him as surely as he would an opponent’s. They would spot Amparo as his.

  Fucking hell! What the fucking hell have I done? But he knew. He was well aware of the answer to his own question. He had put Amparo at risk.

  28

  The Third Law

  “I look ridiculous.”

  “I tell ye, Danny, ye never looked finer.”

  “And why do we have to be the 1960s TV Batman and Robin. Couldn’t we have been more up to date.”

  “Listen, ye spoilt pig. Get real. It’s comic-con. All the local fancy dress stores were bunged. We were lucky to get anything. We might’ve had to go naked and claim we were wearing the emperor’s new clothes.”

  “Small mercies…”

  “Feck off… ye can speak for yerself… nuttin’ small in my case.”

  They were driving north to the convention centre. There was a geekfest happening. Miami’s version of comic-con where cosplayers turn up in their thousands to buy superhero toys, meet Z-list science fiction stars and try their best to outdo each other on the dressing up front. More importantly, for Danny and Ciaran, it gave them another chance to roam around the inside of the centre. Danny was squeezed into the Adam West-era, Lycra monstrosity, whilst Ciaran was rocking the Robin outfit complete with little cape and huge ginger beard. Danny had still not won that particular contest.

  It was an entirely different experience walking around the convention floor whilst it was bustling.

  “Have ye noticed how many security guards they have in here? These feckers aren’t taking any chances. And they’re all packing, too.”

  Danny had noticed. Was this a regular amount, or was this just for an expo that had so many members of the public present? Would a Christian function be quite so heavily patrolled? “Do you think Vincent Cardell’s will be this heavy-handed?”

  “Hard to say these days, mucker. I never know if this is to keep order inside, or keep disorder out? The IRA played a bit fairer. At least back in our day, we left a warning. Most of the time, anyway. When we didn’t, some fecker had cocked up.”

  “I suppose. Now, a load of Christians all gathered in one place is a huge target.”

  About to respond, Ciaran was tapped on the shoulder by a very convincing Wonder Woman.

  “Hey, Robin, would you be a cutie and take our picture, please?”

  Given his height and the Wonder Woman’s build and stature, Ciaran was momentarily lost for words.

  Danny, laughing, had to poke him in the shoulder to break the spell. “Hey, Boy Blunder… take the picture…”

  “Oh aye…”

  It was only then that Ciaran spotted Wonder Woman’s friend. A tall, willowy Poison Ivy wearing less than her friend. He whipped his head back round to Danny for an instant. “This may be the greatest job recce we’ve ever done, Danny. I love my job.”

  As Ciaran set about taking the super women’s picture, Danny was approached by a young man dressed in a red and white uniform. The brow of his ill-fitting baseball cap was covered with a Coca-Cola sign. It reminded Danny of the huge trailer they had parked beside when they had first recced the centre the other night.

  “Hey, Batman, want a soda? You can have a regular for two bucks or a souvenir cup for five.”

  Danny took him in, amazed by the kid’s get-up. “They make you walk around like this all day?”

  “Yeah, I only go back for refills, and I get a break once every three hours. My back is killing me. You know how it is; you gotta do what you gotta do. But I did get to meet George Takei earlier, so that’s cool.”

  Danny gently spun the kid around. On his back, he was carrying what looked like the pack that Neil Armstrong wore walking on the moon, tubes coming out the top and over each shoulder.

  “It’s kinda cool, though. The left side of the pack has the gas and the other side has the soda. I’m diet, my buddy over there is full fat.”

  ‘I’ll take a regular, please.” Danny wasn’t thirsty, but he wanted to see it in action.

  The kid pulled a regular cup from a tube hanging off his belt and, using one of the tubes, he filled it. Then, from a pocket in his trouser leg, he retrieved a straw and a lid. Danny assembled it and took a sip.

  “It’s cold! How much Coke do you think you sell a day, kid?”

  “Who knows, mister? This thing holds ten litres, and I refill about twenty times a day. And that’s just me. You do the math.”

  Danny handed him a five-dollar bill and told him to keep the change.

  “Holy tips, Batman! Have a great comic-con. Is your buddy okay over there?”

  Danny turned to see Ciaran in the middle of a gaggle of super women. Wonder Woman and Poison Ivy had now been joined by a Storm, a Supergirl, a She-Hulk and, finally, a Batgirl. They were all giggling as Storm tried a group selfie.

  “Ladies, ladies, I’ve never felt so much girl power in all me life, I tell ye that for nuttin’.’’

  “Hey, Superjerk, we’ve got make a move.”

  Poison Ivy was the first to respond. “Aww, don’t take away our Robin. He’s so cute. That accent is divine. I wanna make him itch.”

  “D’you hear, Batman? She’ll even help me scratch it!” They all dissolved into ribald laughter.

  “Ladies, put him down. He’s only little. I’m saving you from yourselves…”

  More laughter as Ciaran detached himself from the group, an exaggerated look of chagrin on his face. “We’ll save the world together another time. Who knew Batman was such a ball-breaker?”

  As they climbed back into Danny’s jeep to drive home to the Keys, he asked Ciaran a question that had the ginger Robin confused. “How much Coca-Cola can a place like this sell at an average event?”

  “What’s that got to do wit’ the price of bacon? Is that one of those details you were on about t’other day?”

  “Maybe I’m just curious.”

  “I was curious about Poison Ivy, but you didn’t help me out wit’ that one.”

  Danny smiled. “Who’d want to kiss a beard like that?”

  “And I thought Batman was supposed to be Robin’s friend.”

  June walked into Vincent’s office and sensed his foul mood instantly. “You wanted to see me?”

  Vincent looked up at her, peering over a pair of very old-fashioned, half-moon spectacles. She hated them on him. They made him look old and, to her mind, creepy. Mind you, who was she kidding? She knew there were many things about her husband that were creepy. He gestured to an envelope on the desk in front of him.

  “Here. That’s for your…” he paused looking for the right word, “acquaintance. It’s a list of the answers to the questions he passed to you. You can thank Norby for collating it.”

  ‘Thank you. I’ll see he gets them.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  June noticed the sarcastic tone in the reply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “As if I need to answer that. Is he any good?”

  June went to reach for the envelope intending to then turn and leave but then thought better of it. “Do you really want me to answer that question? Do you want to know?”

  She came around the desk, perching her backside on it, making her husband sit back a little.

  ‘He’s very good, Vincent. He’s strong. He’s muscular and fit. He has big, rough hands that felt harsh on my skin. I felt them, especially when he pulled my panties aside so he could bury his head between my thighs.”

  “Now listen here…”

  “No, Vincent. No. You listen. You listen as I tell you all about how I unbuckled his belt, practically ripped his button flies open. My eyes almost popped out of my head. He was so big… and ready. And I was too. I couldn’t sit on him quick enough. And he fucked me. Long and hard. Like a porn star. He made me beg for more, and then, he gave it to me. And I begged again and again. He made me see stars. It was so satisfying, Vincent. So delicious to be with a man who didn’t need some handcuffs and a shit load of pain to get
it up…”

  Vincent stood and raised his arm in the air. But June surprised him. As he drew his arm back, she punched him square in the solar plexus, putting all of her body weight into, enjoying the solid contact she had made. There was a look of absolute shock that turned to pain on Vincent’s face.

  He flopped back into his chair, gasping for air. June stood over him, hands opening and closing at her sides, waiting, daring him to try and stand up. She knew he was probably becoming aroused, but she wanted to hurt him, needed to make him feel real pain.

  “You… you will never raise your hand to me again. If you do, at a time in the future, it may be one week or a month or two months, when you’re asleep, I will cut you. I will cut you badly, and you will bleed. You holier than thou son of a motherfucking bitch.”

  She grabbed his hair and bent down. Speaking directly into his ear, her spittle flecked the side of his head. “I’m busy putting your fuckwit mistakes right. If that means I have to do a little fucking to achieve it, then that is my choice. Besides, how else does a woman get an orgasm around here?” As she said it, she grabbed his cock and balls, not surprised to find him erect. She gave them both a vicious twist.

  June stepped back from him, took a moment to fix her hair and picked up the envelope off the desk. But before she could turn away, Vincent found his voice, despite his pain.

  “I saved you. I picked you up from out of the gutter and gave you a life. I gave you Jesus. I gave you redemption. If you are going to double-cross me, or stand in the way of my plans, my plans that are built on God’s will, then make no mistake. I will have you killed. And it will not go easily for you.”

  June tutted. “Really, Vincent. Do you think God wanted you to piss off an entire Mexican drug cartel? And by the way, when he made me come, I screamed for Jesus like I was at one of our missions.”

  And then, she walked out.

  After stopping for a takeaway at Jersey Boardwalk Pizza on the way home, Danny and Ciaran were sitting on the porch with cold beers in the hands and full bellies under their respective fancy dress costumes, content to sit in silence, listening to the breeze create music in the trees around the house.

  Ciaran finally broke the sound of the night air. “I can hear yer brain whirring away from over here… All that planning… scheming.”

  “You like me better when I’m thorough. I still have a few loose ends to tie up. Plus, I’m trying to weigh up a calculated risk.”

  “Our whole feckin’ lives are about calculated risks, for Jaysus’ sake.”

  “This one is more a calculated play more than a direct risk…”

  Ciaran sat forward, interested. But the sound of a car coming down the drive interrupted them.

  It was June Cardell’s car. Danny stood to meet it, the headlights cutting across him as he descended the steps. It was only then that he remembered he was still dressed as Batman minus the cowl.

  When June stepped out of her car, she was already laughing. ‘I didn’t think I would even smile today, Danny, but you have changed all that. Looking handsome. I thought you were a criminal, not a crime fighter.”

  “Believe it or not, this was all in the line of duty.”

  “Oh, come now, Danny. Are you sure? Mind you, I wouldn’t have put you down as someone who likes to dress up.”

  “What are you doing here? I thought I told you, no contact.”

  “I don’t have a bat signal… so I couldn’t summon you.” She held the envelope from Vincent’s office out in front of her.

  “And that is?”

  “The answers to your list of questions.”

  Danny took it from her. He opened it to find a typed list. “This was done on a computer.”

  “And?”

  “Jesus, June. Think. It may have been saved on the computer. That then becomes evidence. Malice aforethought.”

  “Norby created it. He was the one got you your answers.”

  “Then, you have to get him to delete it, and I have to treat the answers with some suspicion. He’s not on our side.”

  “As I told you, he’s Vincent’s man. He’s loyal to Vincent, and believe me, Vincent wants this robbery to happen.”

  “Were you careful? On the way here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Were you followed?”

  “Who might be following me, Danny?”

  “Look, June, from here on in, assume everyone is an enemy agent. Okay? You’re playing—”

  “With the big boys, now, huh? Is that what you’re about to tell me? Because I’ve heard that one already this week. Again, you are underestimating me because I’m a woman. Grow up, Danny. This is the twenty-first century.”

  “No, I was about to say ‘playing with fire’ if you aren’t assessing everything and everybody as a potential risk. You are in a high stakes process, June. Every step from here has risk attached.”

  “I’m more than ready and able for this, Danny. Don’t doubt my capabilities nor my resolve.”

  “What happened?”

  “When?”

  “Your demeanour. It’s changed. You are less seductive ‘femme fatale’, and now, you’re more ‘business-like bitch’. What spooked you? What changed your play? Is it because I’m all the way in now? Or did something else happen?”

  “I’m approaching this with a clear head, Danny. Isn’t that what you have just demanded from me?”

  “No, June. I can feel it. Something or someone has clipped your wings. I think it has something to do with Harkness.”

  And there it was, even in the light of her car headlights, he spotted it. A momentary flicker in her eyes. The rest of her face was taut and composed. But her eyes had given her away.

  “I’m tired of you boys and your macho bullshit. You have your list of answers. I will see you next week with Harkness as arranged. You boys can go back to playing dressy-up now. Goodnight, Danny.”

  Harkness had done something to her. Something that had scared her. And worse too. He’d made her angry. And on this job of conundrums, that made June an unwelcome variable. Danny watched her drive away, his thoughts clouded by all the possible consequences. Sometimes, Danny hated Isaac Newton and his damned law.

  29

  I Will Follow

  It had been four days since Danny had taken delivery of the list from June Cardell, and once he and Ciaran had pored over the answers, they went to work.

  Ciaran had spent most of his time shadowing the routine of one of the names on that list: Marvin J. Quantick III. Marvin was in his fifties, balding but trying desperately to cover it with a comb over that bordered on the comical. He was married but had no children. In other words, an average Joe.

  Ciaran had been tracking him from very early morning until very late at night. The aim was to gather as many details as possible about Marvin’s everyday schedule as he could. Then, they might be able to find his weakness and, therefore, have the leverage they needed to persuade him to help out with the upcoming job.

  The man was a walking cliché. He lived in a modest suburban home on a typical Floridian street. He drove a Volkswagen Jetta. His wife even saw him off to work at the door every morning, handing him a packed lunch and blowing him a kiss.

  Ciaran would then follow him on his Harley Davidson, taking exactly the same route every day, being caught in the same traffic snarls and stop lights. It was the kind of existence that would have driven the Irishman to a mental breakdown. Each to his own, he supposed.

  Once Marvin was safely ensconced at his place of work, Ciaran would then track back to Marvin’s home and watch the wife’s routine for a while. On the first day, she went to the gym, driving there in her Chevy Spark. The first time Ciaran had seen her pull the car out of the garage, he had felt nauseous. The car was not only small and ugly, but it was lime green. To him, this was an offence to the entire American motor industry. After the gym, the wife met friends for coffee.

  Just before lunchtime, Ciaran would then ride back over to Marvin’s work, check
ing that his Jetta was still parked in the employee car parking lot. Then, using a pair of binoculars, he would locate him, sitting at his office desk, busting open the lunch bag his wife had given him. Ciaran was not surprised to see that Marvin chewed his food with his mouth open, like some kind of caveman. It made Ciaran retch involuntarily to watch, but, ever the pro, he kept the binoculars locked on his target, deeply unpleasant though it was.

  The afternoon went pretty much the same. Marvin sat at his desk, working on his computer, making calls, talking to the odd colleague who came and perched on his desk. Now and again, Marvin would get up and leave Ciaran’s line of sight. He presumed these occasions were trips to the gents, the longer ones perhaps a meeting or an office gossip.

  At the end of the office day, Marvin would climb back into his Jetta and drive home. The traffic snarls and stop lights obstructed just as they had in the morning. Once home, his wife would be waiting, and they stayed in.

  Day two had been identical. On day three, Ciaran was settling himself into the bushes of the park that faced Marvin’s little home and began to think that he might die from boredom. The morning went off exactly as the other two had. Marvin went to work. His wife went to the gym and then Starbucks. That day, there was a deviation. And what a deviation it was, too.

  As he rode his motorbike back to Marvin’s office, Ciaran was surprised to see Marvin’s Jetta pulling out of the employees’ lot. He thanked his lucky stars and wheeled the big bike around to follow his target.

  The journey wasn’t a long one. The Volkswagen ended up in a small residential community about three miles from Miami Beach. Careful not to be too close, Ciaran left enough space between himself and the car, so that when he was parked up and climbing out of it, Ciaran rode past.

  He stopped in the mouth of the next street, turning his head in time to see Marvin ring the doorbell of a house. The front door opened, but Ciaran couldn’t see by whom, the occupant staying behind the door, shielded from the street.