Rocks

by M. J. Lawless

  “Such as?”

  “What was your biggest scam?”

  Her face lit up with glee at this and she lowered her coffee to the table before clapping her hands. “Oh, that’s a grand idea! Let me see, let me see.” She began to drum her fingers on the table.

  “There’ve been a few, I take it.”

  She nodded. “I need to think. Tell me yours first.”

  Hayden lowered his head in mock modesty. “Well, I’ve had several successes myself, but the best one must have been three years ago. I’ve always been pretty good at cards—paid my way through university playing poker. So, I devised a way to work over a number of casinos—never the same one twice and always in a different city. I was on a roll for a while, pulling in about a million quid a night. I probably made ten million before it got too risky: I kind of valued my internal organs after that.”

  She nodded. “Impressive, impressive, but I can do better.”

  He leaned forward, taking a professional interest in her. “Oh yeah? How?”

  She smiled. “By getting married.”

  That hit him. “You’re married? What?” He felt as though he was going to fall out of his chair.

  “No!” her face was slightly annoyed at his stupidity. “Past tense, idiot! It only lasted seven days—no, eight. He was a billionaire and I think he thought his pre-nup covered all bases, but Uncle Coilin helped me out on that.”

  “So, what happened?”

  She sipped her coffee again. “Divorce on the grounds of mental cruelty.”

  “You tortured him so he divorced you?”

  That made her laugh and she gave Hayden a mock scowl. “No, of course not. I mean, he was, like eighty or something. There was no way I could, you know, have sex with him.” She shuddered with disgust at the memory.

  “No, of course not,” said Hayden with ironic mildness. “That really would be too much. So how much did you make?”

  She shrugged. “About fifteen million. I doubt he even noticed it. By the time I’d finished with him he was simply glad to pay me off.”

  It was Hayden’s turn to shudder. “I can imagine.”

  Karla’s eyes narrowed. “And what does that mean?”

  “That you’re a force to be reckoned with. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”

  “Quite like yourself, you mean. Amoral, unscrupulous, intensely sexual and thoroughly charming—hell, we were made for each other.”

  Both of them were silent for a few moments.

  “But,” began Hayden at last, “that means that the Wallenstein was your biggest yet, am I right?”

  She nodded. “Yours too. What are we going to do when we split the money?”

  He shrugged. “I was planning to go abroad, spend some time away from Europe for a while.”

  “Me too.”

  “Oh, yeah. Maarten said you were going to South America, right?”

  Karla sighed at this. “Ah, bloody Maarten.”

  Hayden was frowning as he looked at her. “I don’t get it,” he said at last.

  “Get what?”

  “I mean, you had what you wanted. You’d got the Wallenstein—he was utterly besotted with you and gave it up without a struggle. You could have gone anywhere on your own, so why did you hang around for him?”

  She looked down at the cup in her hands. “I needed to get him away—far away. He was going to unravel at any moment and the whole thing would come apart, so I needed to make sure he couldn’t speak to anyone that counted.” A sly smile spread across her lips and she half-raised her eyes towards him. “And would you?” she asked.

  “Would I what?”

  “Would you give up the Wallenstein without a struggle?”

  “Not bloody likely! I suspect fighting with you is going to become my favourite pastime.”

  At this, her smile broadened and she stretched a hand across the table, reaching out towards him. As she lifted her head fully, however, Hayden noticed those beautiful green eyes focussing somewhere else behind him and her body tensed.

  “Oh, shit!” she hissed.

  “What is it?” Hayden began to turn when a sodden gloved hand clamped down on his shoulder.

  “Mister Carter,” said Lars in a low, quiet voice. “What a pleasure to meet you here? And Ms Pietersen also.”

  Hayden began to rise from his seat when he felt something cold pressed against his ribs. Looking down he saw the flash of a metal blade. Still holding the knife against him, Lars pulled up a chair and sat down.

  “Very good, Mister Carter. Don’t make any sudden moves. I don’t need a gun to kill you, but then you already knew that.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” Karla scowled. “The police are over there. One call and—”

  “And I can inform them that you are the ones responsible for the theft of the Wallenstein,” Lars said with a thin smile. “Don’t be stupid. In any case, one false move from you and your partner will be dead before they can get here.”

  Hayden felt sick. His mouth was dry and he had to swallow a few times before he could speak. “I’m impressed, Lars.” This made the other man frown slightly. “I don’t think I could have made it to shore.”

  “I had a little help. Someone was out for a morning sail—their last, as it happens.” If Hayden had felt sick before, it was nothing compared to what was happening to his stomach before.

  “What are you going to do?” Karla asked. Unlike Hayden, she appeared cool and collected.

  “I’m impressed, Ms Pietersen,” Lars replied. “You know, out of the two of you, I think that you’re really the dangerous one.”

  “I’m flattered. That still doesn’t answer my question. What are you going to do?”

  A pale tongue flickered briefly across Lars’s lips. “I have not been successful in recovering the Wallenstein, but there’s something that’s not quite right here. I intend to find out what is really going on.”

  “And what if we don’t tell you?” Karla was watching him intently.

  “Then I’ll just have to fulfil the second part of my arrangement with Boeckman’s. They want as few people as possible to know about what happened.”

  “There are two of us,” Hayden said. “You can’t take both of us at once.”

  “My, Mister Carter! You have suddenly discovered some bravery!”

  “He’s right,” Karla added quietly. “You can’t take on both of us.” She smiled softly, her eyes looking past Hayden and Lars.

  “Oh, but I can,” Lars sneered, not noticing the direction of her gaze. “You had the advantage over me last time, Ms Pietersen, but that won’t happen again. I can more than easily handle both of you.”

  “Well if two aren’t much trouble,” another voice interrupted, “let’s make the odds really dirty.” Surprised, both Hayden and Lars turned to see a large bear of a man, his rather ugly face dominated by a pockmarked nose, bright ginger hair receding from his temples. In his hand he carried some sort of cudgel and, as Lars struggled to turn in his chair the stranger lifted it to deal a powerful blow across the Norwegian’s head, knocking him senseless to the table.

  “S’alright lads!” the man said, raising his other hand and waving to the Garda who were now looking in their direction. “My friend’s just been drinking a little early in the day!” One of them nodded discreetly and the large man opened his arms to embrace Karla, who had rushed around the table to greet him.

  “So this is Uncle Coilin, I take it?” said Hayden. “Thank you.”

  “Ah, think nothing of it,” the man replied. As Hayden reached out a hand, however, Colin drew back slightly. “Sorry son. I haven’t shaken hands with a Brit for over a decade. Nothing personal, you just never know when they’re going to fecking try and do next.”

  Karla shook her head at this and pulled an exasperated face at Hayden over her uncle’s back. “Sit down,” she told Coilin. “That was good timing.”

  “I’d never let anyone harm my little Gráinne,” he replied, taking a seat beside
her. “You know that.” Karla blanched and began to wave her hands, while Hayden stared at her in amazement, a grin slowly spreading across her face.

  “Gronya?” he said in the nearest approximation of the name he could manage. “Gron-ya?”

  She glared at him and then blushed before turning on her uncle. “I told you never to call me that. My name’s Karla!”

  “Ah!” Coilin waved a large, brawny hand in front of his face before letting it rest on the back of Lars’s head who remained unconscious beside him. “You should never be ashamed of where you come from. The Macnamaras are a fine family.”

  “Gronya Macnamara?” Hayden couldn’t resist a chuckle. Both Karla and Coilin turned to stare at him with such malevolence that he quickly shut up.

  “Her great-grandfather, Padraig Macnamara, was a good friend to the first Taoiseach of a free Irish state, I’ll have you know.” Colin’s face was fierce and proud.

  “My name is not Gráinne Macnamara,” Karla opined. “I changed it by deed-poll, remember.” She sighed.

  “So, what name do you use on your passport?” Hayden asked, keeping his face as straight as possible. He corrected himself. “I mean, on any passport you want to pass for the real you.”

  “Karla Steel,” she said with a slight blush, dipping her eyes to avert both his stare and that of her uncle. “I thought it sounded classy.”

  Uncle Coilin shrugged. “Each to their own, I guess.” He stared at Lars, still unmoving on the table. “I suppose we should do something with this fella before long, eh? I mean, sooner or later someone’s going to wonder what the feck is going on. Oh, by the way,” he appeared to interrupt his own train of thought. “Mad Dog sends his regards.” Karla grimaced at this.

  “Who the hell is ‘Mad Dog’?” Hayden asked, still trying not to laugh at either Karla’s birth name or her chosen one.

  Karla simply scowled and refused to answer, but her uncle explained: “Just our little nickname for the Assistant Deputy Minister for Culture up over the border—a hang over from his old provo days. Not that I’m allowed to say that, of course. Anyhow, he has a thing for our little Gr- our little Karla here.”

  “I don’t make many mistakes,” Karla muttered, “but that was definitely one of them.” She shook her head before adopting a brisk, business-like tone. “Anyway, back to the matter in hand. We have to do something about him.” She gestured to Lars.

  “That we do. Where’s he from?”

  “Norway,” Hayden answered.

  “Norway?” Coilin looked surprised. “Well, feck me. That was the last place I’d have expected. I mean, they haven’t really been bothering anyone since all those Viking feckers went around causing all that trouble. Don’t you worry: I heard from the lads that there was a bit of an incident on the ferry. We’ll hand him over to the boys in a while. I’ll sort him out and then get you back to pick up your diamond in a jiffy.”

  “You can do that?” Hayden looked sceptical.

  “Of course I can!” Coilin looked offended at the question. “Just as I’ll sort out moving the Wallenstein as soon as you get your hands on it again.”

  “How?”

  “Uncle Coilin trained as a lawyer,” Karla added. “He’s very useful to know.”

  "Really?" Hayden was incredulous.

  “Typical fecking Brit,” Coilin snarled. “Always jumping to stereotypical conclusions about thick Paddies.”

  “Well,” mused Hayden, “you do seem to say ‘feck’ a lot, which is right up there in terms of cultural stereotypes alongside Guinness, leprechauns and kissing the Blarney stone.”

  The older man bristled at this. “While it causes me a great deal of regret to say this, stout originated in London before it was exported to Ireland, leprechauns don’t exist, and if I ever get my hands on the Blarney stone I’ll shove it so far up where the sun don’t shine that you’ll be able to kiss it without moving your lips. Or, indeed, any other part of your body.”

  Karla reached forward and patted his hands. “Calm down,” she said gently. “He was only teasing.” Hayden nodded in agreement cautiously.

  Uncle Coilin stared at him sternly.

  “I don’t fecking believe it,” he grumbled. “I could put up with the French, the Italians, the Americans, the Chinese, the Russians.” He continued a list that seemed to take several minutes to complete before concluding: “but I never thought you’d end up with a fecking Englishman.”

  Hayden stared at Karla open-mouthed. “Is there any nationality you haven’t slept with?”

  She mused for a few moments. “No-one from Tibet.”

  “You have some prejudice against Tibetans?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve just never met the right one. Yet.” A grin slowly spread across her face. “Mind you, I bet the Dalai Lama would be awesome.”

  “I don’t think he has sex.”

  Waving her hand, she looked at Hayden with mild contempt as Coilin sank his head into his hand. “That’s just marketing and PR bullshit,” she explained breezily. “I bet you he’d be fantastic in the sack. I mean, it wouldn’t be like shagging the Pope—you know, all kinky shit and getting me to dress up as a young girl. No, he’d be a Tantric master. He’d keep me in a state of orgasm for hours.”

  Hayden sighed. “I don’t know which is worse: your perverse grasp of theology or the fact you fantasise about sex with the world’s religious leaders.”

  “It’s the only way to bring us together in peace and harmony,” she replied, smiling sweetly.

  “You should hear her suggestions for solving the Middle East crisis,” Coilin muttered. “It’s enough to make David Ben-Gurion spin in his grave.” Shaking his head, he placed a meaty hand on Lars’s collar, making the Norwegian groan slightly. “Anyhow, we can’t spend all day chatting like this. You two need to get back to London and pick up that diamond. I’ll sort out our mutual acquaintance.”

  “You’ll be able to help us?” Hayden was still struggling to come to terms with all that he’d learnt.

  “Of course he can help us,” Karla told him. “Uncle Coilin can sort out anything—that’s why I was on my way to him.”

  “Yes, but I mean… fencing the Wallenstein, that’s just straight out illegal even for someone like your uncle? No offence meant,” Hayden added quickly, lifting his hands in a defensive gesture.

  “None taken,” Coilin replied, manhandling Lars to his feet. “I’m a lawyer. Breaking the law is what I do.”

  Chapter Sixteen: Karla

  It was not until the morning of the next day that Karla and Hayden stood before the secure lockers at Heathrow. They had left her uncle to deal with Lars and hired a car in Holyhead to make their way back to London more quickly. Part of Karla had been extremely eager to get her hands on the Wallenstein as quickly as possible, but more than that she had wanted to get her hands on Hayden. Indeed, it was with some reluctance that the pair of them had crawled from his bed that morning.

  He looked extremely presentable, dressed as he was in a grey Armani suit which accentuated his broad shoulders. He would have seemed a perfectly respectable businessman were it not for the bandage covering his nose—a fact which made him somewhat self-conscious.

  “You look cute,” she told him, resisting the temptation (already indulged several times) to reach up and tweak him.

  “Yeah,” he remarked wryly. “Just like a stockbroker who’s got into a fight with a cave bear.”

  “Mmm,” she purred, pressing her body against his. “Just the thought of that’s getting me hot.”

  He glared at her and then laughed. “You look beautiful,” he said.

  “Not too flashy I hope,” she replied self-deprecatingly, though inside she glowed at this simple compliment.

  “I was amazed at how quickly you managed to find something so… fetching.”

  “Years of practice,” she told him with a wink. “Believe me, I can shop for days without food and water when the mood’s on me, but today we have business. Only the thought of t
he Wallenstein could have stopped me fucking you this morning.”

  “I’m surprised you can still walk.”

  She punched him affectionately. “Don’t flatter yourself, handsome. It takes a lot more than that to render me legless—though I hope we find out just how much before long.”

  Again he laughed. “So, who are you today?”

  She fished her passport from the inside pocket of her jacket. “Amelia Lund, originally from Dortmund. Ich freue mich Sie kennenzulernen, Herr Carter. It was the only one I had to hand who was a brunette. And you?”

  “Jeffrey White, sales director for a medium sized enterprise just outside Slough.”

  Hugging his arm, she beamed up at him. “Don’t you just love how dull and boring our alter egos are?”

  “Of course,” he replied. “It means we can save all the exciting stuff for our real selves—”

  “Don’t say it!” she hissed, raising a finger with real venom in her voice. “Don’t you dare fucking say it!”

  “—Ms Steel. What, did you think I’d be as indiscreet as your Uncle Coilin?” His winked at her and pulled her back into him again. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”

  Nodding, she opened her clutch bag, a quilted Versace number, and retrieved the key before passing it to him.

  “Don’t you want to open it?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m too nervous. If it’s not there, I want to be able to blame you so that I won’t feel in the slightest bit guilty when I cut your dick off.”

  Hayden pulled a peculiar expression at this. “Amazing, isn’t it,” he murmured. “I go my whole life without anyone threatening to castrate me, then I have two people offering to do it in as many days.”

  “Yes, sweetheart,” said Karla with a grin, “but Lars wouldn’t have had yours stuffed to make it into his own private plaything. Your man parts are your best feature, you know. Now, come on. Put an end to my misery and open that locker.”

  Hayden did appear a little nervous as he inserted the key and turned it. “Weren’t you worried it might be searched?” she asked.

  “I know some people here,” he replied. “I paid a little extra for the privacy. You’d be amazed at the sort of stuff folks store away here.”