Be Careful What You Wish For (Amber Fox Mystery No 2)

by Sibel Hodge

  I downed the last of my wine and Brad paused the playback before pouring me another.

  ‘OK, did you see that Levi was distracted by that guy who was shouting at him?’ Brad said.

  ‘Yes.’ I thought about the scene I’d just witnessed. ‘Did you see the look on Levi’s face when he heard him? Levi’s head whipped around to face the guy, and he looked really shocked by whatever he was saying. Scared almost.’

  ‘That’s the impression I got, too. Levi is a professional boxer – he’s trained to not let anything going on outside the ring distract him, but he was certainly distracted by that. It doesn’t seem right to me.’ Brad turned to face me on the sofa and stretched his arm along the back so his fingers were within easy reaching distance of me. They radiated heat like a furnace.

  ‘So, what, you think that little scene was staged to make Levi throw the fight and go out deliberately in the sixth round?’

  Brad thought about this, head on one side, for a moment. ‘Probably not. I don’t think any boxer would want to risk unnecessary injury by not keeping his defence up. There are easier ways to throw a fight, if that was the intention.’

  ‘What then?’ I sipped my wine, staring at the screen to avoid thinking about the crackling tension I could feel through the small gap between us. ‘Do you know the guy who was shouting at Levi? I recognize him from somewhere.’

  ‘You should do. He’s Carl Thomas: he and his wife live near your parents.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, that’s it. He’s the CEO of that bank…what’s the name of it?’

  ‘Don’t you remember? It was plastered all over the newspapers last week.’

  I turned and rolled my eyes at him. ‘When do I have time to read the papers? My boss has me worked off my feet!’

  ‘You love it.’ A grin danced around the edges of his mouth.

  Well, yes, I suppose he had a point there. In between debating my love life, I lived for my job catching bad guys. Actually, no, that wasn’t strictly true anymore. When I was a cop, I caught bad guys. Now I investigated insurance claims, but somehow I always managed to catch cases that still involved the bad guys. Lucky or crazy? I’m not sure which. This was precisely why I needed my investigatorish tools of a stun gun and my SIG handgun. I was a good shot, too. I’d even popped a cap in my ex boss’s ass. Not that I’m proud of it, really. OK, maybe just a little bit. It’s a long story and she more than deserved it.

  ‘OK, I’ll help you out,’ Brad said. ‘The bank is Kinghorn Thomas, owned by Carl Thomas and Edward Kinghorn.’

  My eyes widened. ‘The same bank that had a safety deposit box robbery last week?’

  Brad gave me a cool nod. ‘The very same.’

  ‘Romeo is investigating that case.’

  ‘What did he tell you about it?’

  I tilted my head down and avoided his steady gaze. ‘Not much. The only thing I know is they haven’t caught anyone responsible yet.’

  Brad raised an eyebrow. ‘Aren’t you discussing cop talk in the bedroom anymore?’

  I suddenly found my nails incredibly interesting and stared at them until my eyes watered.

  ‘Well?’ Brad said.

  Damn. He wouldn’t stop until I gave up some information. ‘Well if you must know, we’re on a break at the moment.’ I fixed my eyes firmly back on the TV. I really didn’t want to get into this discussion with Brad. Bad things might happen if I did.

  Slowly he reached out and twirled a strand of my hair around his fingers. ‘Interesting. And why are you on a break?’

  I tried to ignore him, but it was becoming increasingly impossible. I studied him from the corner of my eye. If I had to rate Brad out of ten, he’d be so far off the scale he’d be hitting quadruple figures. There was no denying how attractive he was. All the elements were there: the grey eyes that had a hint of blue when the light hit them just right, lined at the edges, giving him a dangerously sexy look; the solid cheek bones; the toned sleekness of a big cat; the full and particularly kissable lips – lips which at this moment in time looked like they wanted to kiss me.

  Did I want him to kiss me, though? That was the question.

  I batted his hand away to stop him molesting my hair any further, but he slipped his fingers through mine before I could stop him.

  ‘I told you before – stop fishing for information.’ I looked up and my eyes caught his.

  I couldn’t tear them away from his. It was like he’d turned on some kind of invisible magnetic pull.

  ‘I’m not going to give up until I’ve got you back.’ His eyes darkened with determination.

  I gulped hard. Yes, that was exactly what I was worried about. Brad could win a stubborn competition easily. Then again, so could I. But who would be the best man/woman standing?

  For a moment, I struggled for words, which was very unlike me. Usually, the only time that happened was when I was asleep. Brad was the only person I’d ever met who seemed to have the power to render me speechless.

  The sensible part of my brain said, Don’t even go there, Amber. The hot-blooded woman side of my brain said, Stop being such a wimp and go for it. They met somewhere in the middle, and I broke eye contact before the hot-blooded side took over and my brain turned to mushy goo.

  ‘We’re talking about Carl Thomas, remember?’ I released my hand from his and swirled the wine around in my glass to try and take my mind off lusty thoughts before I pounced on him and ripped his clothes off. ‘So, Carl Thomas’s bank had a robbery last week where a lot of safety deposit boxes were ransacked and property was stolen. What’s that got to do with Levi Carter?’

  Brad shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe nothing at all. But there’s something else that feels weird. I’ll replay it again. Keep your eyes on Levi’s manager sitting in the first row in front of the ring next to where Carl is standing. Watch his face when he hears what Carl is shouting at Levi.’ He rewound the fight again to the frame just before Carl arrived ringside.

  ‘There,’ Brad pointed and paused the frame. ‘That’s Levi’s manager.’ He pointed to an overweight guy around sixty years-old with creepy pale blue eyes and a freshly shaven head. He had the face and body of an ex-boxer himself – chunky and squished around the edges.

  I let out an involuntary gasp. ‘Shit! That’s Vinnie Dawson. Better known as Mr. V to his friends or VD to his enemies.’ I chuckled. Childish, I know, but I couldn’t help myself.

  ‘You know him personally?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I know all about VD. I put his cousin, Lee, away for armed robbery about ten years ago. Lee and a few other lowlifes robbed the First National Bank.’ I pressed my lips together, trying to recall all the details of the case. ‘That kind of pissed Vinnie off. He and his cousin are like brothers.’ I tucked a stray curl behind my ear. ‘Vinnie did his own time in prison about forty years ago, too, for manslaughter. He beat someone to death who owed him money. He only served five years, though. He got time off for good behaviour.’ A fake laugh slipped out. ‘Good behaviour?’ I shook my head. ‘Somehow I can’t imagine Vinnie getting brownie points for offering to do extra washing up in the prison kitchen.’

  Brad nodded. ‘When Vinnie came out of prison he got into the fight promotion industry. He’s made a hell of a lot of money over the years promoting boxers, wrestlers, cage fighters, and Thai boxers. In the fight world, he’s a powerful guy. He also has a lot of inside connections to other sports like football and rugby.’

  I snorted. ‘Powerful and corrupt.’

  ‘Did you know that, as well as being the number one fight promoter in the UK, Vinnie is also a manager? In fact, he acts as both manager and promoter for Levi,’ Brad said.

  ‘So what’s the difference?’

  ‘The manager’s job is to look out for the best interests of the fighter. The promoter’s job is to look out for the best interests of the promoter.’

  ‘So what does the promoter do exactly?’ I tossed the last dregs of wine down my throat.

  Brad nodded to my glass, asking for m
y approval to refill it as he spoke. I held it out and watched it fill the glass as he spoke.

  ‘The promoter’s job is to set up and pay for everything involved in a fight – from publicity right down to the chairs in the corner of the boxing ring and the drinks served at the venue. Because he assumes all of the financial risk involved in the event, he gets a bigger cut of the winning purse than the fighters.’

  ‘And what does the manager’s job entail?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, the manager will usually sort out gym schedules, travel and fight arrangements, approve the contracts for upcoming matches, paying the trainers – that kind of thing. But if a manager isn’t on the ball, many fighters could get a low cut from their fights and end up broke after years of fighting.’

  ‘Isn’t it illegal for a manager to be a promoter as well, then? It sounds like there’s a big conflict of interest.’

  Brad shook his head. ‘Well, in boxing, as long as the boxer agrees, they can have the same manager and promoter.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’ I scrunched up my face. ‘Why would any fighter agree to having the same manager and promoter if there’s such a conflict?’

  ‘OK, let’s take boxing, since we’re talking about Levi here.’ Brad leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘When a boxer is just starting his career and is hungry to be the next champion of the world, I would imagine he’s prepared to take the risk. There’s a lot of politics in boxing, and some of the top promoters can put obstacles in the way to stop or delay fighters getting a title shot.’

  ‘Hmm. A few years ago, when I was working on the special operations squad, there was a big investigation into Vinnie’s involvement in illegal sports betting. There were allegations that Vinnie was responsible for football match fixing, as well as rigging various fights. I wasn’t involved in it, though, so I don’t know what happened – only that they couldn’t get any solid evidence against him. Guess who was running that investigation?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Janice Skipper.’ I mimed poking my fingers down my throat and throwing up. Janice and I had history and it wasn’t pretty. ‘Considering she couldn’t investigate her way out of her front door without help, it’s not surprising that they never found anything to stick to Vinnie.’

  Janice Skipper was my ex-Detective Chief Inspector and my arch-enemy. She was also the reason I left the police force. Correction – she had me thrown off the force before I got my job back and quit. I seemed to be collecting exes of all varieties. She was also the one I’d accidentally shot in the ass. Who knew I was such a good shot? She deserved it, though. Big time.

  ‘It’s also possible that the witnesses were too scared to implicate Vinnie in anything,’ Brad said. ‘Rumour has it he’s eliminated a few rivals or people who’ve tried to stand in his way in the past. But Vinnie is involved in it up to his eyeballs, aided and abetted by Lee, who runs a betting shop,’

  That sounded about right. If you looked up the definition of a psychopath in the dictionary, I’m pretty sure you’d find Vinnie’s name. ‘What a great family business. I bet their parents are really pleased. What do you do for a living, son? Oh, I kill and torture people who get in my way. Good work, son. I’m really proud of your career choice.’ I snorted.

  Brad pressed the start button on the remote control, and this time I wasn’t watching the actual fight, I was concentrating on what was going on outside it.

  I saw Carl Thomas stride down the aisle in between the crowd, towards the ring, stopping inches away from where Vinnie sat. Engrossed in the match, Vinnie unwrapped a toffee and popped it in his mouth, chewing slowly. He discarded the wrapper on the floor. When Carl started shouting and pointing at Levi, that got Vinnie’s attention pretty quick. Vinnie’s jaw hung open, his cheeks puffed out and burned red like his head was stuck in a pressure cooker, and he glared at Carl with all the venom of a funnel-web spider. If looks could kill, Carl would’ve been boiled alive, decapitated, and stabbed with a thousand knives simultaneously.

  The next minute, Levi was on the floor, clutching his eye, and security guards were wrestling Carl away from the ring and back up the aisle towards the exit. Vinnie whispered something to a huge thuggy looking guy with a bald head sitting next to him, and Thuggy disappeared up the aisle as well.

  ‘It looks like Vinnie understood exactly what Carl was shouting at Levi,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, but what was so important to make Levi lose his concentration and risk injury?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I tucked my legs underneath me on the sofa, making myself comfortable. ‘But, anyway, you said yourself that Levi’s medical insurance payout would be negligible, so why the big interest in this?’

  ‘Like I said – I’ve got a personal interest in this. I had a call from Levi’s dad tonight. EJ says something’s going on with Levi and he’s worried.’ Brad glanced down at the ground, his eyes focusing on something I couldn’t see. ‘EJ was in my unit in the SAS. He’s a good guy, and I owe him a favour. I promised I’d do anything I could to help, and I always keep my promises.’

  I locked my eyes on his and took a deep breath. The air felt cool on my lips. ‘Not always.’ I immediately regretted saying it the moment it flew out of my mouth. That’s the trouble with me: sometimes my mouth is a hundred miles ahead of my brain.

  Brad opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off before this conversation headed somewhere I didn’t want it to go. There was no point going around in circles. Been there. Done that. I was so not doing it again.

  ‘Well, what does Levi’s dad think is going on?’ I asked.

  ‘EJ said Levi’s wife, Letitia, told him that Levi’s been acting jumpy and nervous lately and making rash decisions about things, which is apparently not like him. EJ’s tried to talk to Levi, in case he’s in some sort of trouble, but Levi wasn’t giving anything away. Levi and EJ don’t have a particularly good relationship anymore.’

  ‘I see.’ My mind whirred away, working overtime. ‘So you have a boxer, a banker, and a boxing promoter. The boxer gets injured – which may or may not have been staged – the banker has his bank robbed, then suddenly turns up at Levi’s fight; the promoter is involved in illegal sports betting, and about a squillion other criminal activities; and his cousin was done for armed robbery fifteen years ago. Interesting.’ I tapped my lips. ‘The question is: what do they all have to do with each other?’

  ‘That’s what I need you to find out, Foxy.’

  Chapter 2

  Good morning Sunday!

  Breakfast is my favourite meal of the day – no, scratch that, anything that involved food is my favourite time of the day. I’d slept well the night before, despite the memory of Brad’s hair-molesting etched into my brain. This was exactly the kind of exciting distraction I needed to get my mind off my love life and get Amber Fox, Miss Shit-Hot Investigator, embroiled in a case of intrigue. Yes, intrigue was exactly what I needed.

  I’d made a New Year’s resolution to be more healthy. What I should be doing right about now is heading for the gym, although the fact that I likened working out to a week in a Siberian prison camp doing hard labour tended to hinder my motivation somewhat. Instead, I stared out the bedroom window, checking the weather. It was the beginning of October, but in Brit weather-speak that could mean anything from twenty-five degrees to zero. No wonder everyone had bloody colds all the time.

  I pulled on my usual uniform of black combat trousers and a black T-shirt, and stuffed my feet into some brown UGG boots. Next up on my list of priorities – food. I searched the kitchen cupboards for any sign of something to get me going. I wasn’t fussy, really. Anything that had a high sugar and caffeine content would suffice. One half-empty packet of crisps. A quarter slab of cheddar that was going mouldy. A full jar of strawberry jam. Two lonely peanuts left in a packet with no other peanut friends to keep them company. Six bottles of red wine. Four chocolate biscuits at the back of the cupboard. Ooh, chocolate! How did I overlook those? I glanced at the packet –
they were a couple of months out of date. God, I really needed to go food shopping. I did find about half a bowl’s worth of sugar-coated cereal right at the back of the cupboard which still looked just about edible and polished if off with some instant coffee.

  OK, stomach full, now I needed to tame my out of control curls. There was no way I was going to get a comb anywhere near my hair, so I scrunched it up a bit with some water and slapped on some mascara and lipstick. I fed Marmalade some stinky cat biscuits, grabbed my leather jacket and rucksack and headed off to meet Levi Carter.

  ****

  I was expecting a mansion with the latest gadgets – big screen TVs, expensive furniture, a home gym and swimming pool – but in reality, Levi’s detached house was what you’d call a modest, four-bedroomed family home in a quaint village.

  Levi’s wife, Letitia, opened the door to me wearing faded jeans and a fitted black shirt. I could tell by the quality and cut they were off the rack and not designer. She’d been crying and her black hair, that I suspected was usually a sleek mane, was rumpled and mussed up. In her hand, she held a tumbler full of golden liquid. I could smell its contents from the doorstep – brandy. It was half past ten in the morning, and I wondered what was causing her to drink this early in the day. Worry for her husband? Stress? Boredom? A guilty conscience?

  ‘Hi, I’m Amber Fox, from Hi-Tec Insurance.’ I held out my hand to shake hers.

  She shook it clumsily, the jerking action causing some brandy to spill onto the step. ‘I suppose you’ve come about Levi’s medical insurance? I just knew you people would show up sooner or later.’ She leaned against the doorframe, her dark eyes cold.

  You people? OK, she was probably worried and upset that Levi was injured so I ignored the bitterness in her voice and smiled. ‘How’s he feeling?’

  She shrugged and took a slow sip of brandy. ‘How do you think he feels? He had laser eye surgery last night.’