“You working?”
“Yeah.”
“You clean?”
“Yes, I’m clean. Want to see the test results?”
The henchman, who had a face the shape and texture of an unpeeled potato, curled his lip. “If it was up to me, sunshine, I wouldn’t be here at all. Mr. Warren likes the look of you. He pays well, so make it snappy.”
Jake’s heart swooped into his throat. “What, now?”
“No, three weeks on Tuesday. Of course now. Mr. Warren doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
No, make that president of a major world power. Warren clearly had inflated notions of his own grandiosity. “Okay, okay. At least let me go to the little boys’ room first.”
The henchman nodded, quite an achievement given his lack of neck. “Don’t hang about. There’s plenty more lads in here would jump at the opportunity. Mr. Warren won’t wait for long.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jake swished his jacket off the bar top and swirled it somewhat flamboyantly before slinging it over his shoulder. It might have looked artistic, but it was the pre-arranged signal for Mac, and he hoped his partner had seen. Sure enough, when he got into the bogs, Mac was lined up at the urinals. Jake slid into position at his side.
“I’ve had an invitation,” he said, keeping it short in case they were overheard. The music was less insistent in here, and one of the stall doors was closed. Miss a detail like that, and he could blow his cover in the general direction of the sky.
Mac followed suit, sticking to their tried and tested routine by pretending to be Jake’s pimp. “Yeah? When’s the big event?”
“Now.”
“What, right now? Some notice might have been nice.” Mac’s eyebrows went mountain climbing, and he missed the china with his final spurt.
Jake knew him well enough to know they were both thinking the same thing. It didn’t give them long enough to prepare. No backup, no wire, no hidden cameras; it was dangerous, but surely worth the risk. “Want me to say no?”
“Depends how well the bugger pays.” Mac then mouthed yes, which Jake did his best to ignore.
“Well enough by all accounts. I’ll be in touch.” With that, Jake zipped himself and gave his hands a cursory sluice under the nearest tap.
“I’m not keen,” Mac was starting to say, but Jake shushed him with a glance towards that ominous, closed stall door.
“Not here, okay? I said I’ll be in touch.”
“Okay, sweet pea. Look after yourself.”
In a funny sort of way, Mac’s concern was touching. It showed how much his partner cared about him, even if it would never be the relationship he’d once hoped. He grimaced, slung his jacket again, and wandered off to his fate.
Close up, Frank Warren was more revolting than Jake had realised, with his gingery comb-over, slack lips, and two-day growth of beard. His breath was none too fresh, and on top of that, he seemed to like giving pain, judging by all the pinching and prodding that went on in the car.
The journey, thankfully, was short—only as far as a nearby hotel, where Warren appeared to have a suite. Jake made a mental note; it was something they hadn’t known and could be useful for future operations. It might be where Warren fixed his deals, for instance, or stored the dope. Or it might just be where he brought his boys, but even that knowledge could help.
Inside it was luxurious, with a separate lounge and mini-bar. Warren disappeared into the bedroom next door, and the Neckless Wonder, who’d come in with them, plied Jake with a beer he didn’t want and told him to wait.
He couldn’t resist. “I thought Mr. Warren didn’t like to be kept waiting.”
The henchman curled his lip again but didn’t bother to reply. He indicated with another fat nod that Jake should take a seat on a squashy sofa at one end of the room, while he himself took up sentry duty outside the bedroom door.
Jake sat and propped his boots on the coffee table, hoping his frustration didn’t show. The whole point of getting inside Warren’s private space was to have a good look around, but with the Neckless Wonder standing guard, he couldn’t so much as blink. He’d have to hope Warren was the type who fell asleep after sex so he could ferret around then. Surely to goodness the henchman wouldn’t come in and watch? Surely Warren wasn’t so far gone he was into having an audience? A glance at said henchman didn’t help much, since his spud-like face was completely expressionless—until he spotted Jake’s cowboy boots.
“Feet!” he said with a scowl.
Jake sighed aloud and lifted the offending objects off the coffee table.
After a tedious ten minutes, the henchman’s mobile rang. “Okay, he’s on his way,” he said and stood aside from the door. “In there. Leave your beer. Mr. Warren doesn’t like drinks spilled on his sheets.”
So here it came. The culmination of over a month’s hard work. Just let it be worth something, he prayed. He stood, put his bottle down with the greatest care so the Neckless Wonder couldn’t see how his fingers shook, and wiped his palms on his jeans. The next couple of hours were likely to be hell.
The worst of it was over in half an hour, and although unpleasant, was nowhere near as bad as Jake had feared. Unlike Graham, Frank liked to be on top, and unlike Graham, he wasn’t too fussed about ensuring Jake’s pleasure along with his own. The best thing was that the sex itself was over in ten minutes flat. The biggest surprise was that instead of Mac, whose face he usually pictured at times like this, he’d thought of Graham instead. The worst thing was the weight, since Warren was a hefty bloke and liked to lift up and slam back down. Jake was sure his back would ache for weeks. Apart from that, and a general feeling of being grubby, bruised, and used, it could all have been so much worse. And perhaps the gods would listen this time and favour him with an opportunity to search the place.
Sure enough, the minute it was over, Warren flopped on his back and started to snore. Jake left him to it long enough to be certain he was asleep, then risked sticking a leg out of bed. The bloke didn’t stir, so he stuck out the other leg and slithered free of the sheets. There was still no sign of life, so he clambered right off the bed and went to work.
Keeping the bathroom door open as a handy bolt-hole if Warren did wake up, he rummaged through wardrobes and drawers. It soon became obvious that this was a crash-pad and not Frank’s home or place of work. He found a few spare pairs of undies in the drawers, an extra jacket and tie hanging up, but not much else. No books, no paperwork, no incriminating photos or evidence of any kind, and not even a sniff of drugs. Well, that was hardly surprising since top dealers rarely used themselves, but it was a disappointment after what Jake had just endured. The suite was a dead-end; they’d have to search somewhere else.
He used the bathroom for real and felt better for being clean. He had no idea if he was supposed to stick around, but in the absence of any instructions thought he might as well get dressed. He could always strip off again if Warren wanted another bout of sex. His clothes were festooned where he’d slung them earlier, and one sock had made a foray under the bed. He bent to fish it out and muttered, “Hallelujah,” as his fingers met something hard: Frank Warren’s briefcase, presumably shoved under there when they’d first arrived.
He slid it out, silent on the hotel’s plush carpet, and leaned over to check the lock. The combination wheel was set on 0000; if that meant what he thought it meant, then Warren had been so careless he deserved to be robbed. Holding his breath, he tried the catch. The snick of it opening was deafeningly loud, but open it did, and a quick check on Warren revealed he was still, unbelievably, asleep. Jake took a deep breath and opened the case.
Inside there wasn’t much. A gold fountain pen, a cheque book, a much-thumbed newspaper. The cheque book stubs were empty—no details of payments made, to whom, or when—and there was nothing else. Except . . . tucked away in an inside pocket . . . a small black notebook, half filled with jottings, lists of numbers, and what looked like names. Bloody hell. Could Warren really have been that stupid?
Could the gods be smiling on Jake at last? He tucked the book away into his inside jacket pocket and closed the briefcase again.
“Found what you’re looking for?” said a caustic voice at his side, and he jumped so hard he bit his tongue and tasted the iron tang of blood.
The squad had always taught them to stick as close to the truth as they could. That way your words and your expression matched. “Sorry, mate, just looking for my cash,” he improvised, but still half expected to be thrashed to death on the spot.
Warren snorted. “I thought as much. You little toe-rags are all the same—stint on the sex and rob the punters blind.” In spite of the harsh words, he didn’t seem as upset as Jake would have expected, and there were even signs of dawning respect. Perhaps Jake reminded him of himself when he was younger, or perhaps he just appreciated the methods of a fellow criminal. Whatever the reasons, Jake felt weak-limbed with relief. If he was careful, he might get out with both his life and Warren’s little black book. His virtue was already a lost cause.
“You can’t blame me for trying,” he said with a cheeky grin. “And who said anything about stinting on sex? I thought we were only just getting started.”
“You did, did you?” The melting of Warren’s granite exterior continued with a leer.
Jake decided he preferred the stony hard-man look, but he wasn’t exactly in a position to choose. He swayed his hips and put a finger on his zip. “So, you want to watch me get naked again?”
Warren surveyed Jake’s body from top to toe. “Better not,” he said at last. “I’ve got some business to see to. Go on. Run along before I change my mind. Rufus will see that you get paid. And make sure you give him your contact details. I might want to use you again.”
“Rufus?” Jake had visions of a large dog padding about and wondered if he would be paid from its paws.
“My assistant. The one we came in with.” Now that their business was complete, Warren was clearly impatient to see him gone, and the sudden burst of good humour was wearing thin. “Run along, I said.”
Jake didn’t need a second invitation. He ran, pausing only long enough to collect his dosh from the Neckless Wonder in the lounge next door. To his amazement, this amounted to a couple of hundred pounds—twice the exorbitant amount he normally quoted to put the punters off. “Cheers,” he said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.
“Told you Mr. Warren was generous,” the henchman said. “Did he say to leave a number with me?”
“Oh. Yeah. I almost forgot.” Jake nearly blurted his home number, but stopped himself just in time. Give Warren that and he’d trace Jake’s address and be turning up on the doorstep whenever he wanted sex. Which could be interesting for work, he thought with a sudden burst of hysteria. It was bad enough juggling Graham and Mac; imagine adding Frank Warren into the mix. And it was what he’d been given the temporary mobile for, after all.
“Cheers,” he said again, “be seeing you,” and legged it before Warren or the henchman could change their minds.
He called a taxi to get him home, and the first thing he did on walking through the door was phone Mac to let the poor guy know he was still alive. “It’s me,” he said. “I’ve just knocked off for the night.”
“Bloody hell, Jake. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? This is Frank Warren we’re talking about. The word is he plays pretty rough.”
“I’m sure, mate. It wasn’t one of the best experiences of my life, but it’s only a bloody job, it had to be done, and it might have got us a result.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
Jake explained about the notebook. “I daren’t take it into the station tonight in case Warren’s put anyone on to watch me. He seemed quite keen. He might want to scare off the competition or mark me out as his. And in any case, the back room boys will have knocked off for the night. If you stop at the flat on your way in tomorrow, you can pick it up. I don’t know if the figures mean anything, but it’s the best I could find.”
“It sounds promising. Well done,” Mac said, and killed the call.
Minutes later, he phoned back again. “I can’t stop off in the morning. I’ve just realised it’s my annual review, and the buggers have booked it at half past eight. I’ll be coming past yours at eight, and you won’t even be alive at that hour, so I’ll come over during my lunch break instead.”
“See you then,” Jake said, and buried the phone under a cushion in case it rang again.
He was counting out his ill-gotten gains when the doorbell rang the next day. A hundred plus thirty from Graham, two hundred from Frank . . . it was beginning to add up to quite a sizeable sum. He knew he’d have to declare it eventually, especially the contribution from last night’s work because nobody would believe he’d slept with Warren for free. But surely he didn’t have to report the full amount; surely it wouldn’t matter if he kept a bit back for himself? That two hundred quid, for instance—he could tell them he’d only charged his going rate. What the squad didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and he could keep a hundred for himself, plus maybe that thirty Graham had given him last time. It wasn’t much, and it wouldn’t make much of a dent in what he owed, but it was better than nothing, and he reckoned he deserved that much for what he’d been through. And if anybody at work didn’t like it, they could blame Mac for putting the idea in his head in the first place. Damn the bloke and his “could pay off half my mortgage.”
Mac might have been partly to blame, but he was the last person Jake needed to see the cash lying about, so he swept it all back in the bedside drawer and went off to answer the door. “How’d the review go?” he greeted his mate, who looked a little down compared to his usual sunny self.
“Oh, you know, the usual crap. They always spring these bloody questions on you when you least expect them. Did I think I was up to the job? Did I think I was giving you the support you needed? Where did I see myself this time next year? Honestly, Jake, I got the impression my redundancy papers would be on my desk when I got back to work.”
“You’re right, that is just the usual crap. They said almost exactly the same to me three, no four months ago, and there’s no sign of my P45.”
“Let’s hope you’re right. All this talk of cuts to public services is giving me the collie-wobbles. Anyway, enough of that. Didn’t you say something about a book?”
Jake had the notebook on the kitchen counter, ready to serve up with a mug of tea. He handed it across while the kettle boiled. “Like I said, I don’t know if it means anything. But it’s got to be worth a punt.”
Mac riffled through the pages at speed, paused, backed up a page or two, studied some of the figures, and whistled soundlessly. “This is good stuff. Wait ’til the back room boys have finished with it. I’ll bet it’s a list of clients.”
“I hope so.” Jake stuck tea bags in a couple of cleanish mugs and poured boiling water on top, stirred, swished, fished the bags out again, and dropped them in the sink. Then he sniffed the milk. It smelled like pond weed, so he pushed Mac’s mug across the counter as it was.
“Ta. Does Warren know you’ve got this? I mean, should we be organising security for you or anything like that?”
“He might by now,” Jake had to admit, taking a swig from his own mug and nearly scalding his tongue. “He didn’t see me take it, but he did see me with his briefcase. I managed to persuade him I was looking for money to nick, but if he misses that book, he’ll think of me.”
“Christ, talk about living dangerously. Okay, I’ll see about putting a man outside your flat to keep an eye on things. But the first sign of anything dodgy, anyone hanging around, you phone me, okay?” Mac looked at his tea for the first time and pulled a face. “Come on, mate, you know I hate it black.”
“Take it or leave it; the milk’s gone off. Don’t worry, I’ll phone. And Mac?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
He heard nothing more from Mac for the rest o
f the day, and if a security detail had been arranged, it was keeping to itself. He popped out later on for some supplies and couldn’t see a thing. He shrugged, assumed that whoever was on duty was hiding themselves well, and carried on with his errands—fresh milk, fruit, grabbing some funds from the nearest cash machine and trying not to wince at the balance it displayed.
He’d only been back a moment or two when the doorbell rang again. Guessing it was Mac with news about the book, he was all set to buzz the door open until he remembered two things: One was overweight with a snub nose, red hair, and a nasty habit of beating people up. The other, hopefully, was the security Mac had arranged. He checked the video and had quite a shock when it showed neither Mac, nor Warren, nor some unspecified plod, but Graham, clutching a bunch of flowers. So much for the security, if it was in place. They obviously hadn’t spotted him. Or perhaps he looked so innocent they hadn’t thought he was a threat.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” he said as Graham walked in. “Is it . . . I mean, now’s not a great time.”
“Sorry, are you working again? I can’t stop for long myself. I promised Monica I’d take her out for a meal. Hence these.” He waved the tulips up and down, threatening to decapitate them against the hall table, then put them down by Jake’s mobile phone.
“I did wonder. Thought perhaps they were for me.”
That got a grin, but it faded just as fast. “I could have, I just wasn’t sure you’d want them. I still don’t feel I know the first thing about you, but you’ve . . . I don’t know. Got under my skin, I suppose. I just . . . bloody hell. It sounds completely pathetic, but I wanted to see you again.”
Jake fought to keep a neutral expression on his face, even as a happy smile spread across his insides. Not only was it confirmation that Graham felt the same way he did, but it’d been a long time since anyone had told him anything like that. Even without the complication of pretending to be a prostitute, his love life had been moribund for a very long time. Ever since Edward had done a runner, in fact. He’d found it hard to trust anyone after that, except Mac; he’d wasted a lot of time hankering after Mac. Of course, that added complication would play hell with any potential relationship. Just how did you explain to someone who’d paid you for sex that you weren’t in fact charging for the service and never had? “Yeah? That’s nice.” He knew it sounded inadequate but was unable to think of anything else. “Fancy a beer?”
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