Double Kiss

by Ronnie O'Sullivan

  ‘You’ve got a place here, have you?’

  She shrugged. ‘We’re staying with these guys.’

  Sergei was standing closer now and turned to face them as she said it. Was he listening? Hard to tell with all this music. The two of them were having to shout just to be heard.

  ‘Who’s we?’ Her and Duke? He was guessing so, but he wasn’t meant to know it, was he? Not as far as she was concerned. Not unless he wanted to admit right from the get-go that Riley had sent him here. Which was something he’d bet would just frighten her off – he needed to win her trust first.

  ‘Me and my boy. Man,’ she grinned. ‘You never did actually meet him that night, did you? He’s a little bit older than me. More your age. I always did like an older man.’

  What? Was she actually flirting? Or maybe she was just on ecstasy, she did look off her box.

  ‘Is he one of these guys?’ Frankie said. None of them looked anything like the snap of Duke he had in his pocket.

  ‘What, the Russians?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘God, no. They’re . . . I don’t know . . . business associates, or something like that.’

  Which made sense, because none of them looked that friendly. Half of them weren’t even drinking or, if they were, they were keeping their shit together. At least that’s how it appeared.

  ‘His name’s Duke,’ she said.

  Frankie shrugged like it meant nothing.

  ‘Your brother knows him. They both work for Tommy Riley. Or, at least, Duke did.’

  Did. Meaning what? That he’d quit? That him and Riley had jointly agreed to go their separate ways? Fat chance. Absconded, that was the word Riley had used. Meaning Duke had done one. A flit. But from what? And why?

  ‘So this place you’re staying at. It nearby, is it?’ Frankie fished. Because he was already thinking that might be the best place to talk to her. When she was sober. To tell her why he was really here. Because her old man and her godfather wanted her home. Because they weren’t going to take no for an answer. And because it increasingly sounded to Frankie like her boyfriend was in trouble if he didn’t head straight back home to see Riley as well. But not with this lot watching their every move.

  Her turn to shrug. ‘It’s out on the north coast somewhere. I’m not actually sure where.’ She shrugged again. ‘These guys drive us everywhere.’ She meant the Russians. ‘I wouldn’t have a clue how to get there on my own.’

  No way was he just going to be able to pop over for a visit then.

  ‘You got a number I can call you on?’ he said. Next best thing. ‘It might be fun to hang out with you and your fellah while I’m here. I mean, if you want.’

  ‘Yeah. Good idea. You two would get on like a house on fire.’ She pulled a pen out of her little black bag and scribbled down her name and number on a little book of matches that fell right out alongside it. Restaurante Ca’n Costa, he read, picking it up. ‘Oh God, you’ve got to check that out too,’ she said, folding it into his hand for him to keep. ‘One of Duke’s old mates runs it. It’s a chiringuito.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A sort of old-school beach restaurant. They have the best seafood on the island, but you can only get there by boat. Only open on Fridays and Saturdays. Hardly anyone knows it’s even there. It’s the perfect place to get away from it all.’

  ‘Great,’ he said. ‘Thanks, I’ll make sure to check it out.’ He tucked the matchbook into his pocket alongside the one he’d been given earlier for the club.

  ‘You want a line?’ she asked, pulling out a wrap from her bag.

  ‘Er, no. Thanks.’

  She started to rack one up, right here on the glass table in the booth. But Sergei tapped his finger on the back of her hand and shook his head.

  ‘No point inviting trouble,’ he said, nodding across at the bouncers.

  A fair point and one she took, though to be honest the way the bouncers were guarding these guys, Frankie doubted they’d give much of a toss. Winking at Frankie, Tanya hooked arms with one of the other girls and made off for the bogs.

  Frankie smiled at Sergei, but got nothing in return. He didn’t like the look of these twats, not one little bit. The sooner he could get her away from them the better. But when? Because no way was he going to be able to do it tonight. At least, not on his own. But what if this was it? What if he didn’t manage to get hold of her tomorrow on the phone? He heard it again, what Riley had said, about her ending up being scraped off the floor. He got up and went towards the fire door at the back of the club. Another bouncer was guarding it, but, now he’d been allowed into the VIP area, this guy just waved him through.

  Outside was a wide balcony area, looking down over the car park and beyond that the sea. A few people were smoking joints, sitting at tables chatting. Frankie walked over to the railings on the far side, taking out the phone. It was time to call the cavalry and get them out here too. Bob might know who these Russians were and where they were staying. With any luck, he might even end up clearing the whole thing up, nice and quick.

  But no such luck. He dialled both Bob’s and Grew’s numbers, but got nothing but rings. Bloody pissheads. He couldn’t bring himself to call Jesús, better to deal with whatever this was himself than end up with just that unpredictable jerk as backup. He left a message on Grew’s phone. Told them where he was and what was going down.

  He spotted some movement below him then, in a dimly lit bit of car park round at the back of the club, away from the queues. And, blimey, if it wasn’t some of Little T’s Russian pals having a little conflab at the back of a shiny as mercury four-by-four silver Range Rover. And, as if that particular model hadn’t been clue enough, the Russkis were busy filling in the rest of the dots for any casual observer like Frankie to work out. Five or six little scrotes hanging round them, seventeen or eighteen years old. Girls and boys. Baggies full of God knows what being doled out to each of them to get selling to the clubbers inside.

  Aye, aye, lemon pie. So that’s who Little T was hanging out with. Wheeler-dealers. And shifting plenty of product too, if this little scene was anything to go by. Then, turning, he saw Sergei, smoking a fag a few yards away, watching him. Had he just followed him out?

  Tanya was already sitting back in the booth when Frankie got back inside. Right, so what to do now? Stick with her and wait for the cavalry to show? That made the most sense. This Sergei bloke clearly had suspicions about him, but so what? He hadn’t got enough to act on. And even if Grew didn’t get Frankie’s message, if he hung around here long enough, who knew what information he might pick up to help them track down Tanya again?

  But before he even reached her, Tanya leapt to her feet. Frankie turned to see who she was grinning at. Two more Russians, walking her way in the same regulation uniform as the rest. Then a third bloke with them, stocky and good-looking, dressed down in a T-shirt and jeans, with tattoos on just about every part of him but his head. He had to be the boyfriend.

  Duke.

  22

  Frankie watched Tanya hug Duke and start chattering into his ear, as the club continued to throb all around. Then he saw Sergei talking to one of his boys – one of the lads who’d been out in the car park – and getting all animated now, and nodding Frankie’s way. Moodak. Frankie caught the word, even over the music. Knew what it meant too. Bastard. One of Spartak’s favourites. The only bloke Frankie knew who swore more than him.

  ‘Here he is. Jack’s brother, Frankie,’ Tanya said, pulling Duke over.

  But Duke didn’t look pleased to see Frankie at all.

  ‘You sort of met him once,’ she went on, ‘round at Jack’s flat last year. But he was a little the worse for wear, weren’t you?’ She grinned.

  ‘Er, yeah,’ Frankie said.

  ‘And you just happened to be here tonight, did you?’ muttered Duke in his Mancunian drawl.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘He spotted me coming off the dance floor,’ Tanya said.

  Duke eyeballed Frankie, his lip curl
ing. ‘What, and you just happened to recognize her, yeah? Just like that?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘From the last time you saw her, right? From when you were unconscious and we called round at your brother’s flat?’

  Duke was openly mocking him now and the logic of his message was even getting through to Tanya’s drug-addled brain. She slowly turned to Frankie, saying, ‘What does he mean? What’s going on?’

  ‘Who fucking sent you?’ Duke said, shoving his face right up in Frankie’s grill.

  ‘Whoah.’ Frankie took a step back. ‘I don’t know what you’re –’

  ‘A problem?’ said Sergei. Another one not slow on the uptake.

  ‘Yeah, there fucking is,’ said Duke.

  ‘You,’ Sergei told Frankie. ‘Outside.’

  They steered him back then, five of them. Gave him no choice. Out through the same fire escape as before. No bouncer there this time to even clock what was going on. Like bloody buses, they were.

  Outside was just as bad. The smokers and jokers who’d been out here before had vamoosed. One of Sergei’s goons slammed the fire escape door shut behind them. Frankie’s adrenalin was thundering now. This really wasn’t looking very good at all, even less so as Sergei opened his jacket. Shit. He was carrying a holster. He flipped the guard off, giving Frankie a good look at the weapon’s grip, and nodded at two of his goons, who grabbed hold of Frankie, while a third one patted him down.

  Of course, they found the padded envelope straightaway. Though, thankfully, missed the thinner one in his other inside jacket pocket, the one with the lipstick postcard and the photos of his mum. Sergei took the phone out and held it up and muttered something in Russian. No prizes for guessing what – he was most likely grassing him up for having been out here earlier making a call. He handed it over to Duke.

  ‘You look,’ he said. ‘See who he called.’

  Duke’s tattooed finger started punching the buttons. ‘Bob, Jesús . . .’ He started reading the short, very short, directory out loud. ‘Grew . . . Grew? Mackenzie Grew? You prick,’ he shouted at Frankie.

  Great. So much for being too much The Man from bloody Uncle. Clearly Bob hadn’t been quite as paranoid as he’d seemed. Duke tossed his phone away and Frankie watched it skitter across the floor and up against the wall.

  ‘Sergei, he’s working for Tommy Riley,’ Duke said.

  Tanya timed her entrance perfectly, squeezing in past the bouncer at the fire door, coming in right on those words.

  ‘What the fuck?’ she said, staring at Frankie. ‘What the hell is going on? What do you mean, he’s working for Riley? Are you?’ She turned on Frankie. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, watching Sergei now opening the padded envelope. No point in denying it. He could see exactly what was coming next.

  The photo of her was proof enough that he’d been sent here to track her down. Sergei gleefully held it up.

  ‘But . . . but why?’ she said.

  A good question, one that Frankie suddenly realized he didn’t have the answer to. Because whatever was going on here with these Russians, it was about a hell of a lot more than just someone wanting their goddaughter and her naughty boyfriend home. Whatever this Duke had got himself mixed up in here, it was big time and deadly. Frankie wanted no part of it.

  ‘Because your father wants you home,’ was all he could say. ‘And Riley does too.’

  ‘Because of him?’ she spat, nodding at Duke. ‘What? You think I don’t know that Uncle Tommy told him to stop seeing me? Well, Uncle Tommy can fuck off. I love him. Don’t I, babes?’ she said, kissing Duke hard on the cheek. ‘And I’m not a kid,’ she snapped at Frankie. ‘You can’t tell me what to do.’ She clawed a pack of Winston cigarettes from her little black bag, spilling a wrap of coke onto the floor by her feet as she did.

  ‘But you are still a schoolkid,’ he said. Why not? He wasn’t exactly going to get another chance to talk to her, was he? And no matter what the bigger picture was with Duke, Riley and these Russians, little Tanya was still way out of her depth. ‘You’ve got exams to take, your whole future. And all this, everything you’re doing out here . . . it’s not going to get you anywhere. And the only reason your dad and Tommy want you back is because they care about you.’

  At least, he hoped that was true. He hoped for all their sakes that Riley wanting her back wasn’t just to do with this, with whatever else was going down here.

  ‘What? Those two jackals?’ Her pretty lips curled into a sneer. ‘Fuck them both and you.’ Her own dad, a jackal. He watched Duke’s dark eyes sparkle at this. Had he put that into her head?

  She spat at Frankie then. Spat. Right in his face. He felt her saliva trickling down his cheek and, suddenly, he did remember her then. Tanya was the little girl he’d helped teach how to swim that last summer they’d been together as kids, the little girl who he’d bollocked Jack over for taking the piss out of her stork mark and making her cry. But only because he now saw that kid was long dead.

  Sergei said something to the two Russians holding Frankie. They pinned his arms even tighter behind him. Good and professional, like. Sergei rolled up his sleeves.

  ‘Now we find out why else you really here,’ he said.

  Bollocks. Frankie readied himself, closing his eyes and tensing his stomach. But at the same time he knew there was no point. This was going to hurt. It was going to hurt like hell.

  ‘Right, what’s going on here?’

  What the hell? Frankie looked right. The Scouser. The bouncer from the front of the VIP area. Him and four of his mates had just stepped out through another fire door. Just over there to the left. But was this just more bad news? Because wasn’t he working for them?

  Only Frankie then realized he might be wrong. Because the two Russians holding him let go. The others stepped back too, meaning the bouncers weren’t in their pocket after all. They were working for the club.

  ‘Nothing.’ Sergei stood between Frankie and the bouncers, all smiles, but not budging an inch.

  ‘Doesn’t look it, pal,’ said the Scouser. He stared at Tanya. ‘She doesn’t look like nothing either. Looks like she’s been crying. These boys been bothering you, love?’

  ‘She’s with me,’ said Duke, taking her hand in his.

  The bouncer cocked his head. ‘I don’t believe I was talking to you.’

  ‘She is fine,’ said Sergei.

  ‘Ditto, pal,’ said the Scouser. His eyes flicked back to Tanya. ‘I asked you a question.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘I’m fine.’ But her shoulders had started to shake.

  ‘You don’t look it. Actually you don’t look old enough to be in here at all.’ He took a step towards her. ‘And ’ello, ’ello, ’ello, what’s all this then?’ He was looking at the wrap right next to her feet. ‘Underage and doing drugs and with a bunch of n’er-do-wells.’

  ‘You what?’ said Duke.

  The Scouser ignored him. One of his lads behind him was already muttering into his radio. Clearly more troops would soon be on the way. ‘In fact, you know what I’m thinking?’ he said. ‘I’m thinking the least we can do for this young lady is keep her here with us until she sobers up.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ Duke said.

  ‘No? Or maybe you’d rather I just called the police?’

  ‘No, you will not do that either,’ Sergei said, opening his jacket, letting the Scouser see the holster, just like he had done with Frankie.

  ‘Easy, mate,’ said the Scouser. He slowly raised his arm, pointing up at the CCTV camera staring down from the rooftop.

  Sergei barked something in Russian at his boys and they moved fast to form a ring round Duke and Tanya, who were swiftly marched down the metal fire escape leading into the car park below.

  ‘You’re fucking dead,’ Duke shouted, glaring back at Frankie.

  Then with a clattering of boots, they were gone. The Scouser ran over to the edge of the balcony and stared down. An engine roared. Tyres squea
led. Frankie watched the silver Range Rover race out through the car park entrance and into the night – right past where Frankie’s cab should have been waiting, but no longer was. Frankie picked up his phone from where Duke had tossed it. Looked like he’d lucked out, it wasn’t broken.

  The Scouser was walking towards him already talking into his radio. ‘Yeah, sorry, boss,’ Frankie heard him saying. ‘Their headman had a pistol. We had to let them go. But, yeah, I got the plates.’ He switched off his radio and looked Frankie up and down. ‘Looks like that was a close call for you then, mate.’

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you enough.’

  ‘How about just getting the hell out of my club and not coming back?’ the Scouser suggested, with what might even have been a half-smile.

  Frankie stared off in the direction the silver Range Rover had gone. He suddenly felt dog-tired. ‘I don’t suppose I could ask you a favour,’ he said.

  ‘What? Another one? As if saving you from a beating weren’t enough?’

  ‘You never know, I might have won.’

  This time the Scouser did smile. ‘Jimmy,’ he said, sticking out his hand.

  ‘Frankie. Frankie James.’ They shook.

  ‘So what’s this favour then?’ Jimmy said.

  ‘I need a cab, the one I paid to wait for me’s buggered off.’

  ‘Fine, stay put here and we’ll call you one. I’ll send one of the lads up to fetch you when it gets here.’

  23

  The black convertible Porsche shunted forwards then backwards across the car park, then forwards again.

  From where Frankie was standing on the club’s back balcony, waiting for his cab to show, it reminded him of this little remote control car he’d had as a kid. Whizz. Bang. Whizz. Bang. Whizz.

  He remembered the day it had died. Its battery had been low and he hadn’t been able to navigate it out quite in time from behind the bar in the Ambassador Club where his dad had been working. The Old Man had been drunk and for some reason it had got right on his nerves. Frankie still remembered the sound it had made when he’d stamped it practically flat with his size ten boot.