Extremities

by C A Devine

  I looked over at him, ‘For me?’

  He nodded.

  My dad bought me one of the old model when I was seventeen. It drove like a go-cart. I loved it. ‘Thank you.’ I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Let’s see what she can do.’ I opened the driver’s door. A box sat on the seat. ‘It’s two months today since we met in Paris and I wanted to give you something.’

  ‘Isn’t the car something?’

  ‘That’s just for running around. This is for you.’ I didn’t move. ‘Well go ahead, open it.’ I reached in and picked it up, preparing my delighted response to whatever piece of jewellery he had picked out for me. I prised open the box. My blood ran cold, my chest tightened. I couldn’t get a sound to come out of my mouth. A bulging diamond ring stared out at me. ‘I know it’s quick, but we both know this is right.’ He plucked it from the velvet cushion, smiled at me and lifted my left hand in his. I couldn’t believe this was happening. ‘Will you marry me?’

  17

  The Hole in the Wall (The Lie V)

  I was leaving. This was getting way out of hand. He wanted to marry me. There was no way I could stay now. No way. I dragged my bag from the wardrobe and threw it open on the bed. Why had he asked me? I stomped back to the dressing room and swiped my clothes from the shelves. Did he seriously love me? I stuffed the clothes into the bag. The big sparkler shone up from the bed. I picked it up. The diamond was as big as the top of my pinkie. I threw it down, stamped back to the wardrobe and grabbed my shoes. I threw them in the bag and headed to the bathroom. I had said, ‘Yes.’ Of course I had. What else could I say? I banged on the spring-loaded door of the cabinet. It didn’t open. I didn’t have a clue what to do about this. I banged again. I was out of here. It still didn’t open. I thumped it twice and the whole cabinet sprung from the wall.

  I was staring into a hole. A recess in the old stone wall had been covered with a modern mirror-fronted cabinet. And the space was packed full to bursting with cash.

  I stared at the stacks of notes, wide-eyed. Thousands of rectangles of different coloured paper stared back at me. I started dragging at it, pulling it out. The neatly wrapped stacks tumbled onto the marble floor, bundle after bundle after bundle. At the bottom, underneath the cash, were two passports; an Italian one in the name of Angelo Ariana, and an Afghan one in the name of Malak Ariana.

  There was nothing else, but Angelo always insisted on his privacy in the bathroom every morning. So I was guessing the best time to look was during his Zaleplon time.

  I placed it all back neat and tidy, counting as I went. There were 200 wrapped stacks of 1000 euros, dollars and sterling; 200,000 of each currency. With everything fixed back up, I headed down to the cave and blanked the day with a celebratory bottle of Krug. So much for my great escape plan.

  Just before midnight I downed a couple of fingers of Macallan 18 and trotted down the dirt track. If the delivery had arrived a night early, I was determined to get a look at it. If it wasn’t guns or drugs, I was fast running out of illegal options.

  As I approached the stable, the doors lay wide open, the lights on. Could I assume the cargo had arrived? I took up my position by the hinge and peered inside. Angelo stood in the centre of the room, bathed in light, posturing. Tall and Bald were leaning, arms folded, against the Kompressor and the Alfa Romeo Spider respectively. Short was cowering in the gloom.

  ‘I want you to stay here and fit the locks on the windows upstairs by morning, like you said you had already done. Alright?’ Angelo said.

  ‘Yes gaffer,’ Short shuffled his feet.

  An engine purred, then two beams escaped from the forest. I dived for cover just as light flooded the doors and a silver Mazzarati appeared through the trees. The car pulled into the stable. I hopped back up and returned to my position.

  ‘The boat is coming in on Tuesday again next week.’ It was said in a London accent. I pressed my eye through the crack. Two bulky shaven-headed men had joined the group.

  ‘We will not have the drivers till the Wednesday night. I have told you that before,’ Angelo said. ‘I don’t see what the problem is. You have the freezers on board.’

  ‘Tuesday night, ten o’clock, that’s the best we can do. The Two Dogs has to be in Istanbul by Friday if we’re going to make the next pickup. You know the deal, they’re coming faster now. From now on your drivers need to be more flexible. And I know you won’t like it, but all we could get is pier twelve.’

  ‘That pier is too exposed.’

  ‘Look Angelo, I know how important all this is to you,’ the big shoulders rose then fell, ‘but we can’t give them advance notice we are coming so we have to take what they have. If we make a fuss we risk drawing attention to ourselves.’

  ‘Look the bottom line is Tuesday,’ it was the other equally London lad. ‘And we need to talk about payment. We weren’t paid for the last run.’

  ‘What? You sure?’ There was a pause and a look of incredulity. ‘Apologies boys, I’ll sort that out right now.’ He pulled a phone from his pocket. ‘Yanks, Wall Street, you know what it’s like, you can’t trust them.’

  He walked out of the front doors. I didn’t have time to move. He stopped 6 feet from me. I pressed my body into the wall. He lifted the phone to his ear, ‘Bulldog and Christian tell me they weren’t paid for the last run. Is that true?’ he paused. ‘I don’t care what your priority is Tommy, this is mine. Nothing can go wrong with the transportation. Your sister will agree with me. I don’t care if the S fucking EC is asking questions. Look, they’re here now. I don’t have time for this. Just transfer the money.’

  ‘He walked back in, ‘It’s done. And it won’t happen again.’

  ‘I knew I could trust you to sort it out, me old son,’ Christian smiled.

  ‘Right boys,’ Angelo said, rubbing his hands together, his eyes sweeping the whole group. ‘Load it up. We roll in five.’

  I turned and ran, sprinting away from the road and into the field, hurdling over poppies and onto the path. I had to follow them. I might not get another chance. I forced my legs to move faster. My lungs screamed as they tried to pull in enough oxygen to feed my cramping limbs. And still I pushed harder. I had maybe 200 yards to go. I made a final push and reached the Mini. I dived in and screeched down the avenue to the entrance. I sped around the narrow lane that followed the outside wall of the estate, praying I wouldn’t meet another vehicle. I made the final turn and pulled close up against the thick trees. I peered, trying to make out the end of the forest road. My vision blurred. My head felt woozy from too much exertion on top of a load of drink. I fought the urge to vomit.

  The back door of the car swung open. I snapped my head around and felt cold metal against my temple. ‘Do you have a death wish?’

  ‘Get your penis extension away from me, Jason,’ I tried to keep my voice even.

  ‘Amateurs,’ he dropped the gun.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.

  ‘Following these boys.’

  ‘Why? Because of the amateur intel I provided?’

  ‘I have a car further back,’ he ignored me.

  ‘There should be three of them. I don’t think the Mazararrti will have anything, only the other two. We can take one each.’

  ‘I don’t think that was cleared.’

  ‘I don’t think anything I’ve done so far has been cleared.’ Suddenly the road lit up. ‘Just fuck off and do your job, Jason.’ The Kompressor flew out the forest, careening right onto the road.

  ‘You’ll get yourself killed. Then how will Daddy feel?’ he snorted a laugh. ‘Oh, but that’s right, he’ll have his little piece of French arse to console him.’

  I had better things to do than to rise to his taunts. What was his problem anyway? The car swerved around the bend ahead. I started my engine. I turned my head, ‘Get out.’ But he was already gone.

  I picked up the tail lights after about a mile. He drove with care, keepi
ng to the speed limit on the winding country roads, slowing down to pass through a village, then a town and back out into the country. After 10 miles we hit another small town. I followed him through the main square and out the other side. The buildings were beginning to thin again when he pulled into a car park in front of an old brick two-storey house. A neon light flashed above a small door announcing Club Rouge.

  Tall stepped out of the Kompressor, polishing the handle and then the top before strutting to the entrance.

  I parked up and headed after him. The bouncer looked me up and down. Okay, so jeans and training shoes maybe aren’t normal club gear, but it wasn’t exactly St Tropez. Just when I thought he was going to turn me away, he nodded. I paid the extortionate entrance charge and stepped down into a dark cavern. The lights were low and the music throbbed. It was Tuesday night, but revellers were out in force. The place was a feast of velour and chrome, circa 1985. And the clientele? Well now I understood the bouncer’s disgust. Most of the women were squeezed into corsets, spiked heels and not much else. And the men? I didn’t see much in the way of clothes at all, just the odd leather accessory. My gut told me to get the hell out of there, but instead I pushed my way through to the bar and roared an order for water. I needed to clear my head of the whisky. I scanned the club, but couldn’t see Tall. I picked up the bottle and went searching. I found him sitting on his own at a table in a corner, still fully clothed. He hadn’t touched his beer. I found an empty velvet booth with a good view of the table and sunk in. He glanced at his watch. Waiting to get some?

  At that moment a redheaded woman clothed in a red leather corset, black shorts and red leather knee high boots strutted up and straddled Tall. She lavished him with a slow deep kiss. He was right; he was going to get some. She stood up, dropped her black hot pants and straddled him once more, pulling at his belt. I swallowed hard. They weren’t going to … were they?

  Tall looked around. Would he know who I was? I sunk deeper. There was no need to test the question out.

  ‘Bonne nuit.’ Tall focused his attention back on the redhead. ‘Bonne nuit,’ it was louder this time, followed by a cough. I looked around, a short dark hairy man, who’d eaten one too many pain-au-chocolat, was staring down at me. ‘A beautiful young lady all alone is surely a crime. Would you indulge me by agreeing for me to join you?’ Did these guys read this shit in a book? I shot him daggers, but it didn’t stop him sliding his naked body into the seat across from me.

  ‘I don’t speak French,’ I said.

  ‘But of course,’ he switched to English, ‘that is okay because I speak your beautiful language. I am François.’ Just my luck.

  ‘Please go away.’

  ‘Ah, I think you have a fight with your boyfriend.’ Well he wasn’t wrong there.

  ‘No, I just want some time alone.’

  ‘In Club Rouge?’

  I shrugged.

  He snorted, ‘It is not so much the place for that. No?’

  ‘Well that’s the way it is.’ I glanced over, Tall and the redhead were now in full flow. François caught me. He followed my gaze. ‘Is that him?’ He looked back at me, ‘That is him. That is your boyfriend.’

  ‘What? No.’

  ‘Ahh, I see, a little role play. What? You follow him here. The jealous girlfriend suspects infidelity. You watch him and hope for a gallant stranger to come to your aid.’

  ‘What?’ What was this man jabbering on about?

  ‘Men like him always want that little bit more.’ François jumped up and strode over to the table. This was not going to plan. He swung his right arm back and punched Tall in the face. What the fuck? I dived from the booth, not waiting to see what carnage ensued. I pushed through the crowd and ran up the stairs to the exit, glancing back only when I reached the door. A bouncer had François in a headlock while Tall was having his sore jaw soothed by the redhead’s lips. I ran across the car park and slid into the Mini, ducking down low in the driver’s seat. After a minute, François was tossed out on his arse, his clothes following a moment later. He got up and pulled on his jacket and trousers, shouting abuse at the bouncer. I scrunched down further and keeping a close eye on the door, I waited. Ten minutes later Tall and his re-hotpanted lady friend exited the club and headed for the Kompressor. She was still using her tongue to sooth his pain. After one final round of snogging, the woman slid behind the wheel and Tall walked off.

  I followed the car. She kept her speed low in town, but when she hit the countryside she floored the accelerator, testing the power. I sped after her, struggling to keep her in view in the Mini. I swung around a bend about 100 yards behind her. I just caught her tail lights before she spun around the next. I tried to push more power from the small car, pumping the accelerator. The back end began to shake. I flew around the next bend and red and blue lights flashed in my rear-view mirror. Unbelievable.

  *

  Cecile walked into the Gendarmerie within thirty minutes, stomping into the interview room in 3-inch heels, ‘Drinking and driving, what next, Lucky?’ I had called Dad and told him to save the lecture for later. ‘My job is hard enough without having to deal with this kind of shit in the middle of the night.’ So much for that.

  ‘I have to sleep with the bastard, so don’t tell me how hard your pissy little job is,’ my voice broke mid-sentence. Tears swam in my eyes. I swallowed hard, ‘He asked me to marry him.’

  Cecile dropped her head to her hands and blew out a breath, ‘I think we should pull you out. I’m serious this time.’

  ‘No. No, look we’re getting somewhere,’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘I was following one of the cars when I was pulled over. Do Kompressors have a cloaking device or something because she was 100 yards ahead of me and I was struggling to keep up, but God forbid they’d pull her.’

  Cecile smirked and shook her head.

  ‘Jason was following the other one; he may have something more. The boat is called the Two Dogs and may still be in Marseilles.’

  Cecile pulled out her phone and made the call.

  ‘And there is a Wall Street connection. The SEC is apparently investigating. And I’ve finally found where he stores his stuff at night. I plan to get a look tomorrow night. It’s all starting to come together. I need to stay. I don’t know if I could live with myself if I thought all this was for nothing.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can live with this now.’

  *

  I pulled back into the estate a little after three. A Bentley glinted outside the front door, from halfway up the drive. I hit the brakes and turned off the lights. I turned into a track 20 yards from the house and jumped the wall to the terrace. I stepped up to the glass doors. Dim light floated out from inside. Angelo was pacing the living room whispering into the phone. I was going to have some explaining to do.

  ‘What do you mean they seized the ship? How? Well find out! We have people everywhere. Use them. Did they get anybody? Whose operation was it? Find out! I want to know. We have to get the cargo back. We can’t let them find it. I don’t care if you think it is impossible, work out a way to get it back.’ I peered through the glass doors; the back of his neck was turning purple. ‘Pay someone. Everyone can be bought, some people just cost more. I don’t care what Mr Wall Street said, just pay someone. You’re employed to ensure nothing goes wrong. Don’t make me regret it. We protect the cargo at all costs. You heard me, all costs.’

  Maybe he hadn’t noticed I was gone. Maybe he had only just got back and hadn’t been upstairs. Either way I needed to get some stuff, my purse at least. I stepped around to the vine-clad trellis under one of the many spare bedroom windows. I had opened it a crack the day I returned to the house as an informant. Just in case, I told myself. Well now was the case. I climbed up, pulled the window open, slid in and lowered my feet to the floor.

  I could hear Angelo downstairs. I crept into our bedroom. My bag still sat on the bed from that morning. Nothing looked to have changed. Had he checked? I crept back to the door and liste
ned. Angelo ranted on and on about the cargo. He finished one call and dived straight into another. I went back to the bed, grabbed the bag, walked to the dressing room and stashed it in a wardrobe. I was pulling off my jumper when the doorbell chimed. I heard the front door open, then a voice, in a language I barely spoke, ‘I know who your informant is.’

  18

  The Fugitive

  You’re a detective, Ryan, detect.

  She was British. At least I assumed she was from her accent, both of them. A few years before, I had helped out on a case for Scotland Yard. I called in a favour. ‘Hey Olly, it’s Mac Ryan.’

  ‘Good God, there’s a voice I hoped I would never hear again,’ Detective Inspector Olivia Diluca replied in that delightfully charming way of hers.

  ‘Likewise. Remember you said you owed me.’

  ‘I knew I’d live to regret that.’ Okay, so she came to New York, and, yes, we did sleep together. It ended … awkwardly.

  ‘I need you to run something for me.’ I only had the one photograph. The one I snapped with my cell on that first day when Max strolled towards me, down the dock, clad in siren red. It seemed so long ago. I zapped Olly the picture and after some initial reluctance, and a comment about not being a dating agency, she said she’d run it.

  I fell into an exhausted sleep, waking covered in sweat, then drifting off again. Tossing and turning with the pain of my seared skin. Dozing until the fear caught me and I sprung up, gasping for breath. I sunk back into a dream of desperation, chasing her down a never-ending alley. I was within an arm’s length of her when I was kicked into consciousness by Tupac taunting me to keep my head up. I grabbed the cell and hit answer, ‘Max?’ Why did I bother? She didn’t have this number.

  ‘Who’s Max?’

  ‘Yolanda?’