Crime Always Pays

by Declan Burke

  'What time is it now?'

  'Ten past.'

  'He might still arrive.'

  'He's the smart type, Madge. He'd have got here early, casing the place. Making sure it was all kosher.'

  'So what do we do now?'

  'I'm thinking lunch, a siesta, another note at reception. This time signing it, so there's no confusion about who's admiring him from a distance.'

  'And this time backing it up with an actual tip.'

  Terry smiled at three tanned teens sashaying by in flip-flops, denim mini-skirts, all three combined wearing less than Madge. 'You want my advice?' he said, gazing after the trio, head bobbing in time to the rise and fall of their pert little butts. 'Put a number in the note. Mention this inheritance, three-quarters of a mill. Guy'll break your door down.'

  'I don't want to make it sound like I'm trying to buy his love,' Madge said.

  'I thought that was the plan.'

  'Well, sure. I just don't want it to sound that way.'

  'He starts to quibble, hears anything other than ker-ching,' Terry said with a wistful note as the trio disappeared around the corner, 'I'll round it up to the full mill myself.' He seemed to shake himself as he turned back to Madge. 'So what d'you fancy for lunch, sea-food? I hear the fresh stuff, it's God's own Viagra.'

  Karen

  What woke Karen up was she rolled over in bed and there was nothing to stop her rolling, no Ray. Then she came fully awake, remembering there was no Ray anymore. She chugged some water, wondering where Anna was, and then her nose began to throb, a sharp pulsing that caused her to squint, her eyes to water. She went for the pain-killers on the beside locker and then realised she was more worried about getting pills down her neck than asking where Anna was.

  Karen, the idea filtering through slow, started to wonder if she hadn't spent the last twelve hours or so doped, Pyle for some reason keeping her knocked out.

  A cold shower blasted her out of sluggish mode. She dressed and began banging on the locked door, then got up on the bed beside the window to karate-kick the shutters.

  Feet scraped up the steps onto her porch. 'Cut that shit out now.'

  'I'm starving,' Karen called. 'I haven't eaten since yesterday.'

  'Okay, relax. I'll bring you a sandwich.'

  'And coffee. Black, no sugar.'

  'No problem. Just take it easy, okay?'

  The feet scraped away down the steps. Karen, eyes watering again at the thought of it, glad she was still semi-doped, went in the bathroom and found the toilet-roll, put it in her mouth and bit down hard. Bent over the sink, grabbing a good hold of each side. Then, on three, she bounced her nose off the rim.

  Ten minutes later the feet scraped back up onto the porch. 'Move away from the door.'

  'I'm on the bed,' Karen shouted.

  A key grated in the lock and the door pushed open. A stocky guy peered in, the crew-cut composing the ballet for trees, a tray in his hands. Then, seeing Karen on the bed, her face like badly pulped jam, the front of her t-shirt a sticky red mess, he swore and hurried across the room. Karen held off until he bent down to place the tray on the bedside locker, then twisted and scissor-kicked from the hip, booting the tray into his face.

  Sandwich and coffee flew, mostly into the guy's face. He reared back, leaving himself wide open, allowing Karen to re-scissor and put her heel deep in his crotch. He groaned staggering backwards, then went down on one knee like someone about to leave church, genuflecting. Karen rolled off the bed, ducking down a little to jam the heel of her hand up into his nose. A dull crunch, the guy's head rocking. Karen took a half-step back and then booted him in the groin like she was kicking a field-goal from two counties over. He folded like he was hinged at the hips, emitting a keening whimper as he toppled onto his side.

  Karen hunkered in and patted him down, came up with a snub-nose .32. Karen, okay, she didn't know too many ballet composers, but she was pretty sure carrying guns wasn't part of the job description. She crossed to the door and locked it, then checked to make sure the .32 was loaded. Went back to the groaning lump between the beds and clicked off the safety beside his ear.

  'What's going on?' she said.

  'Aauggggggh.'

  'Where's Anna?'

  'Graghhinogh.'

  Karen put the safety on again and cracked him across the temple. His eyes rolled as he shrank away, vomiting something yellowy-green, his mouth gaping so wide Karen couldn't be sure she was seeing his tonsils or his balls.

  'Vraghgoorickshun,' he mumbled. Then he passed out.

  Karen, spritzed on adrenaline, cracked him another for luck, then tucked the .32 into the front of her jeans. Hoisted the duffel onto her shoulders, wriggling a little to allow its weight settle. Then paused to think it through.

  She pulled out the .32 again, ran a finger-tip across the sight on the end of the stubby barrel. Then pulled the sheet off the bed she hadn't used and went to work.

  Melody

  For a gangster, Mel decided, Johnny Priest was a very charming man. Sophisticated. Ordering for the three of them, choosing a crisp, fruity white to go with the seafood platter. Complimenting Mel on her outfit, Mel delighted that the fake Burberry deceived even Johnny's experienced eye. But most flattering of all was the way Johnny took her into his confidence, leaning in now across the table to lay the tips of his fingers on the back of her wrist.

  'What can you tell me about our friend Rossi?' he said.

  Given that Johnny was buying lunch at an upmarket restaurant facing onto the harbour, their table under a fringed awning catching a nice breeze, Mel believed he deserved a little value for his ten grand. 'What would you like to know?' she said, snaffling a shrimp.

  'Who's he with?'

  'Sleeps. Whose real name,' Mel added, 'is Gary.'

  'Is that a fact?'

  'He's narcoleptic, by the way.'

  'Okay. But who's Rossi working for?'

  'You,' Mel said. 'He's delivering the package from Amsterdam for Jochem. To, y'know, you.'

  'Bullshit,' Niko said.

  Mel was already irritated by the Greek's presence, not least because he sat with his head back scanning the port so Melody couldn't help but see up the hairy caverns of his nose while she nibbled her kalamari. 'Excuse me?' she said.

  'See, we have reason to believe,' Johnny cut in, 'that Rossi is working with someone else. Maybe for, maybe with. She's got a wolf, that much we know.'

  'Karen?' Mel shook her head. 'Karen and Rossi split way back. She's been through Ray since Rossi.'

  'Ray?'

  'Except Rossi isn't with Ray either, if that's what you're thinking. Ray sent Rossi to Crete in a box.'

  'Is that a fact?'

  'I can only tell you,' Mel said, spearing a prawn, 'what Ray told us.'

  'Us?'

  'Me. I mean, he told me and I'm telling you. Us.'

  'Let's just go get the fucking thing,' Niko growled.

  Johnny waved him off. 'See,' he said to Mel, 'what's worrying me about Rossi, the guy's hard to pin down. I mean, Jochem said Ios was where he wanted the package dropped off, but then Niko thought it might be better if Rossi handed off in Athens, cut out the messing around getting out here. Only Niko got, uh, intercepted by this Karen you're calling her. So now we're wondering if Rossi isn't pulling some scam.'

  'Far as I know,' Mel said, 'he only ever wanted the ten grand you were paying. Which,' she added, 'is actually mine, for the passports.'

  'Sure thing. Only Roger, Jochem's guy here on Ios, is telling me Rossi dropped by an hour ago, talking up twenty grand.'

  'Rossi's here?'

  'Saying,' Johnny nodded, 'if I didn't play ball, he'd get the fat guy --'

  'Gary's chunky, not fat. More husky, I'd have said.'

  'Sure thing. Anyway, Rossi says the big guy'll take a tumble for him, go back inside, if I'm not onside with the twenty.'

  'More fucking bullshit,' Niko said.

  'Actually,' Mel said, 'Gary says his life is for shit on the outside. So
he's hoping Rossi'll screw up so bad he'll get to go to prison again.'

  'Christ,' Niko said, 'that's all we need. A suicide bomber.'

  'There's no chance of that,' Mel said. 'Like, just try and get Gary up on a whirly-chair, even.'

  'What about Rossi?' Johnny said. 'He looking to go back in too?'

  'God, no. Rossi's off to Sicily.'

  'Sicily?'

  'Where his family are from. Originally, I mean. Although Rossi,' she smirked, 'the last I heard, was under the impression he was already home.'

  Johnny swore softly, glanced across at Niko. 'I knew it,' he said. 'The fucker's hooked up.'

  'It was only a matter of time,' Niko said. He hawked and spat. 'Fucking mafia, they want every damn thing.' Then he stiffened, stared hawk-like across the port. 'Shit,' he said, getting up.

  'Where're you off to?' Johnny said.

  'Be back in a minute,' Niko said, striding away. Johnny, patting the back of his neck with a napkin, watched him go.

  'Y'know, Johnny,' Mel said, 'I didn't want to say anything in front of Niko, but I think you've got bigger worries than Rossi.'

  'How's that?'

  'I'm wondering, how well do you know Jochem?'

  'He's a guy I know. Why?'

  'It's just …' Mel hesitated, then plunged in. 'You know how he gave Rossi cocaine to bring to Ios?'

  'Yeah?'

  'Well, there was no cocaine in the package.'

  Johnny groaned. 'He opened it? Rossi?'

  'Rossi, yeah, he was the one opened it. Anyway, you'll never guess what he found.'

  'Just taking a flyer at total random,' Johnny said, his eyes glazing over, 'I'd say it was a CZ Ninety-Nine, nine-millimetre parabellum. Recently fired, two rounds missing.'

  'Jochem told you about it?'

  'He, uh, yeah. That's why,' Johnny patting beads of sweat from his upper lip, 'Niko wanted to catch Rossi in Athens, let him know a mistake'd been made.'

  Mel nodded. 'I presume Jochem'll be wanting it back then,' she said. 'A perfectly good gun like that.'

  'I'd say he would,' Johnny said. 'Soon as possible.'

  Mel snaffled another shrimp, dipped it into the garlic sauce. 'Because,' she said, 'missing bullets, and smelling the way it does, that nasty cordite whiff, I'd imagine it's hotter than Denzel Washington right now.'

  Johnny, working on his goldfish impression, just stared. Mel popped the shrimp home.

  'Could you do me just the tiniest little favour,' she said, chewing, 'and let Jochem know it'll cost him fifty grand to get it back? You do that,' she added, 'and I'll wipe out the original ten you owe me. Do we have a deal?'

  Doyle

  'You never told me,' Jade said, putting the diet Coke down, tucking the chit under the ashtray, 'you were a cop.'

  'It's not something you advertise,' Doyle said. 'Especially on holiday.'

  'That I can appreciate. But Jamie hasn't been seen for like two whole days. People're starting to worry.'

  'Jamie being the asshole,' Doyle said, 'offered me a spliff on a public beach.' Doyle keeping her eyes on Ray's navy Punto, trying to guess which way he'd jump now the Amsterdam guy had Niko along. Doyle only now realising Niko was working undercover, stinging the Amsterdam guy, Johnny Priest. The sting being why Niko'd had to stay behind in Athens.

  'That asshole, yeah,' Jade said. 'You didn't have him picked up?'

  'Wasn't me.'

  Jade shook her head, puzzled. She wiped listlessly at the table. 'You being on holiday, you're off-duty, right?'

  'Actually, I'm suspended.'

  'No shit. What'd you do?'

  'Got shot at. Why, what's up?'

  Jade glanced over her shoulder into the café, then sat down and hunched in. 'It's a weird one. This girl gave me a note earlier, asked me to go to the cops if she didn't come back in this afternoon.'

  'Go on.'

  'See, I'm illegal here since July. I go to the cops, there's any kind of fall-out, I'll be on the next plane home.'

  'What'd the note say?'

  'I don't know, I didn't read it.'

  Doyle hoisted an eyebrow.

  'Okay,' Jade said, taking the note out of the front pocket of her apron. 'It says she's meeting a guy owns the Blue Orange up in the village. Says the cops should ask him where she is if she goes missing.'

  'But you don't want to get involved.'

  'Not if I don't have to. But I don't want this girl getting in any trouble either.'

  'Noble. Where'd she say she was meeting this guy?'

  'Over there.' Jade pointed across the port. 'The fish restaurant. See the big girl in the mustard sarong-and-pants combo?'

  Doyle squinted against the glare trying to peer around the statue perched on the little marble roundabout. 'I can't see her right now,' she said, 'but she shouldn't be that hard to -- fuck.'

  'What's wrong?'

  'Give it ten minutes,' Doyle said, slipping the note into her pocket, 'then come out and say there's a call for me inside. Can you do that?'

  'Why, what's wrong?'

  'Let's just say I'm in no mood for a reunion,' Doyle said, raising a hand as Niko ducked in under the awning. 'Hey, Niko. You finally made it, huh?'

  Ray

  What Ray didn't like about the set-up would've taken Homer a whole new book to say. The bustling port. Melody. The way the restaurant was open-fronted. Ray, parked over where the yachts were moored, got the crawls just thinking about trying a getaway in the crowded harbour.

  Then there was the muscle tagging along with Johnny Priest, both of them looking like businessmen, the only ones getting off the noon hi-speed ferry, like Pyle'd said, wearing suits.

  Against all that, Ray was intrigued by Mel's angle, curious as to what kind of scam she might be running on a big-time coke dealer. Ray'd swung by the ESY on his way down to the port, to check if they'd misfiled his passport and beg for some heavyweight painkillers, his arm starting to throb again. No joy both ways. Which meant he'd need to chat with Mel before she left the island, if only to eliminate her from his two-name list of suspects.

  Still, Ray'd decided on non-intervention, had already started up the Punto rental, when the tall guy stood up and left the restaurant, stalked across the port to the café where Doyle was keeping sketch. Ray figured it was some kind of sign, karma. He switched off and got out, left the Punto unlocked. Crossing the port he diverted by the phone-box, tapped Sleeps on the shoulder.

  'Don't do anything stupid, Gary,' he said. He tugged up the front of his shirt, showing Sleeps the walnut butt of the .38. 'Tell Rossi I'll see him later. We'll talk then, pro to pro.'

  'Where?'

  Ray glanced at the number on the phone-box. 'I'll ring you here, at eight.'

  'Don't let anything happen Mel.'

  Ray nodded. 'One last thing.'

  'What's that?'

  'The guy with Mel. He's Johnny Priest, right?'

  Doyle

  Doyle was wondering, with Johnny Priest wide open, what Ray was doing chatting with the fat guy at the phone-box. What was he waiting for, Doyle to jump Niko's bones right there in the café? Niko half-listening to Doyle's earthquake story, sitting sideways on, still scoping the port.

  'So you're stinging this guy,' she said, to grab Niko's attention.

  'What's that?'

  'The Amsterdam guy, piping in coke. You're undercover, right?'

  Niko's eyebrows did a caterpillar conga. 'Who told you that?'

  'Oh,' Doyle said, 'a little birdie.'

  'A birdie?'

  'The birdie,' Doyle said, 'mentioned the Dutch connection, the coke. I was the one presumed you're undercover. Because the birdie seems to think, for some reason, you're Johnny's guy, his muscle.'

  'Fuck. Who's this birdie?'

  'Oh, a guy I met last night, we were in a bar. I didn't catch his name.'

  'This bar, it wasn't the Orange, was it?'

  'The, um, Orange. Yeah.'

  'Shit,' Niko said. He shook his head, then glanced around, a sly half-grin sta
rting. 'You know how long it's taken me to get to this point?' he said. 'I mean, for people to start believing I'm Johnny's guy in the islands? Three fucking years.'

  'Wow,' Doyle said. Christ, Ray was heading this way now? 'That's pretty impressive.' Doyle using her eyes, Ray coming on, to warn him off.

  But Ray kept coming. Doyle realising too late Ray didn't know Niko was a cop. Ray knowing nothing at all about Niko, as it happened, Doyle believing Ray'd be happier in his ignorance …

  It took Niko a beat or two to register that Ray'd slipped into the seat beside him. Not until Ray pulled the .38 under the table and leaned in, placed it against Niko's knee.

  'Hollow points,' Ray said. 'They'll take half your fucking leg with them.'

  Niko did a double-take, glancing at Doyle and then back to Ray. 'Who the fuck is this?' he said.

  'Ever seen a man gut-shot?' Ray said.

  Niko, mesmerised, shook his head. 'What happens,' Ray said, 'is the crap in your intestine gets in the wound. It's a horrible death. Takes days.'

  'Fucking Sicilians,' Niko breathed.

  'Stand up,' Ray told Niko.

  Niko got to his feet slow.

  'Nice and easy,' Ray said. 'The navy Punto, over by the yachts. Smile like you're having a good time.'

  Niko's face cracked like a dropped plate.

  Ray

  'You don't know,' Niko said, 'who you're fucking with.'

  'Save it for Karen,' Ray said.

  'Karen?'

  'This girl I know, just happened to have her nose busted last night.'

  Niko blanched. 'Now wait a fucking --'

  'Just drive,' Ray said.

  Ray angled into the passenger seat, the gun on his lap pointed at Niko's thigh. The beach to their left, the Punto crawling along in second gear, Niko's knuckles white on the steering wheel. 'Where to?' he said.

  'Keep going,' Ray said, 'all the way to the end. See the yellowy-blue sign, the Katina? There's a driveway to one side.'

  Niko turned in onto a rutted track.

  'Okay,' Ray said. 'Go down to the end, pull in under the pine.'