The Underworld night club was opposite the tube station. He popped across the road and walked straight in through the bright blue doorway and paid his dues in the stolen cash.
It was early, but a crowd was gathering. He’d dropped his chasers for sure. He noted that band called the Falconers was live that night and was amused by the early smattering of Goth styled revellers. There was black leather, fish nets, dark hair and heavy eye make up. It was going to be interesting seeing how Aliesha dressed, unless of course she’d been winding him up. He couldn’t see himself scoring at this gig unless she did turn up. He ordered a beer and sat in the bar. Loud heavy metal came from further into the building.
He was on his third beer when a perfumed arm curled around his neck and Aliesha’s voice alcohol slurred his false name.
“Hi Marc. You took the hint.”
Mason turned on his stool and was delighted at the sight. She wore a lace up black Basque, layers of black net skirt and leather boots. Her hair was spiked and her eye make up was heavy. The crowd with her were disappointed.
A tall twenty something lad, thin and dressed head to foot in black and clearly jealous spoke first.
“Invite your uncle ‘Leash’?”
He withered under Mason’s stare. A plump girl not quite carrying off the wan look and for all the world looking like a satanic meringue picked up the hat.
“Very dandy!”
Aliesha put her head to one side.
“Why the hat?”
“Stolen disguise…” Mason shrugged.
“Don’t say you’re a secret agent?” They all laughed.
“You didn’t fall for that line ‘Leash’?” The thin lad said.
Mason was rescued by the sound of Falconer’s ‘Man Of The Hour’ pumping from the stage room. The gang rushed off and Aliesha grabbed his hand and pulled him.
“Come on the music’s great.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Neither do I, but it’s dark in there and music turns me on.”
“Well why didn’t you say?” He dropped off the stool and followed her in.
The wall of noise hit them and ‘Leash’ dragged him into a dark corner. She was a little drunk, but knew what she was doing. Her hands ran down his back and stopped. Her kiss broke off and her eyes wide and sober stared into his. The music pounded on. He gripped her around the waist and spun her to the wall, bent in and shouted in her ear.
“Yes it’s a gun. I’m a bad man ‘Leash’. Still want to play?”
The answering smile and tongue into the mouth kiss told him all he needed to know. The dark side, girl’s loved a bad boy, thought they could tame them and she had sensed his danger and flew to it moth like. It only remained to be seen how ‘burnt’ she’d be by the end of the night. If she’d passed off the gun that quickly she was already ‘blind’.
At DIC centre in Euston Diane Peters, sitting in Jack Fulton’s office, sipped a late night coffee, which she needed, but knew she shouldn’t be drinking. Mason had dropped off the map again. She checked traffic, multi-screen on his computer and banner information feed showing nothing as the teams converged near the Green Park tube station.
The phone rang and she set it to speaker phone.
“Diane, get the teams looking for a hat and trench coat on the tubes from Green Park in the last hour.”
“Will do.”
After two songs, music he couldn’t stand, to escape the noise and give ‘Leash’ a chance to breathe Mason took her to the bar for a drink and saw a look of quizzical comprehension and recognition pass over the barman’s face when Mason ordered their drinks. Behind him on the side, near the raised bar access Mason saw the red top of The Sun newspaper. It was a quick click in his mind to the conclusion he was about to be grassed up.
“We have to go now.” Mason said with sudden harshness.
“What? The night is young, I want a drink.”
“Then I have to go now, you stay.” He was abrupt and business like.
Aliesha caught the tone in his voice.
“Okay. Back to my place, a movie and a pizza?”
“Fine which way?”
“It’s on Fortress Road at the top of Kentish Town Road, maybe two miles away.”
“Meet me out front I’ll rustle up some transport.”
Mason scanned the bar quickly and spotted a motorbike helmet. Amongst all the black clothing and the leather there had to be a biker and sure enough there was. At a crowded table a worn black leather jacket was draped over a chair, underneath which was a gaudy coloured helmet. Sitting on the chair was the muscled body of a black haired boy in a ripped T-shirt. Behind him on a ledge, next to a door, was the full pint glass of a thick bodied man talking to a lean and rather sexy looking girl with black bunches, mini skirt and knee length striped socks. Mason walked around the table, pushed the swing door open with his right hand and with his left swept the pint onto the biker’s neck and carried on through the door. He did a U turn in the corridor beyond and walked back to an angry scene, both men facing each other, friends shouting. Security was on the way over. Mason walked past the chair, all their backs to him, pulled the jacket off the chair as he passed and on his way to the door. He slipped out the keys and dumped the jacket on the floor. Behind him a full blooded furious fight broke out in the bar.
At the tower Jack Fulton’s phone rang and the speaker phone declared to Diane Peters that a bar man at the Underworld had spotted Mason. The banner stream declared the club security had called police to the same location. She set the teams on their way. Traffic slowed them.
Outside the bar Mason scanned the surrounding roads and pavement for a parked bike. Across the road by the tube station was a blue and white Suzuki GSX-R600, checking it was the right make on the key fob, he grabbed ‘Leash’s hand and dragged her across the busy road.
Sirens sounded in the distance, people were being thrown out of the club behind them. In the street light he found the lock key, unlocked the chain, straddled the bike and put the key in.
He twisted, revved and put his foot on the clutch.
“Get on.”
“We’ve no helmets!”
“Let’s live dangerously. Get on ‘Leash’.”
She ungraciously swung a leg over the bike, grabbed his midriff with both arms and felt the acceleration of the bike nearly pull her off the back. She leant forward as the bike blurted like a blue comma across the pavement and slammed its way up the Kentish Town Road. ‘Leash’ whooped as the fast moving air streamed around her, the leather seat between her thighs coldly pressing against her sheer lace thong. She felt the lump of the hand gun in the back of his trousers pressing against her abdomen and thrilled to the itch it gave her lower down.
Behind them at the club the police arrived in numbers to a full scale riot at the Underworld. Police Vans and thirty policemen struggled with crowds coming out. Bloodied security, glass cut men and crying girls filled the road, stopping traffic. The vans were filling as police wrestled fighters, two or three cops to a struggler, pinning them down and cuffing them.
The DIC cars were waved through a make shift cordon made of police bikes, as was an ambulance. When the teams got out it was hard to find anyone to talk to. They scoured the crowds. Tony Deany made his way against the flow into the bar. His feet crunched on glass and heavy looking policemen and women stood around waving batons, some taking notes. He waved his badge as a police woman tried to stop him. Ellie followed in his wake to the bar.
“Which barman recognised the face from today’s Sun?”
“It was me.” An Australian, lean and tanned moved forward.
“Was he with anyone?”
“Some Asian Goth girl, looked nice too.”
“Did you see them leave?”
“I think she left before him, maybe he lucked out. He went up that way and then the fight broke out.”
“Was he fighting?”
“It’s hard to tell, it all got a bit mad after a while. Then the cops showed u
p and I lost sight of him.”
Deany looked down at the bar stool and beneath it the green trench coat, crumpled hat and a beer soaked red scarf. He picked it up.
“He was here alright, the stolen ‘disguise’ from Henry’s.”
“Maybe he started the fight to cover his escape?” Ellie looked around.
“How did he know we were coming?”
“He’s smart. The barman kept looking, he got nervous. Maybe the girl recognised him and walked off threatening to call the police.”
“If he followed her out god help her, is all I can say.”
As they returned to the outside where things had calmed down the police were sending the crowds into the club. Police organised the club goers into groups and began sitting them down. A table was being set up by the door to the outside. Traffic on the road was moving again.
Liam Kershaw, a time served DIC recruit in his early thirties broke away from a group of police and approached Deany and Ellie.
“Nothing to go on, he’s not in the vans and no sightings. It’s going to take hours to interview our way through this lot. Some have left, but we’ve had most sent back in.”
“Interview all of them?”
“Diane’s orders see if he was here to meet anyone.”
“That’s going to take until morning.”
“I know so let’s get started.”
Mason dropped ‘Leash’ at her house and watched her go in. He rode the bike to a back road and parked in a side alley. He walked back to her house and rang the bell. She answered the door with a beer in her hand.
“Welcome. Follow me.” He stepped over the threshold watching her wiggling behind go up the stairs. Duly he followed.
It was a three bed semi detached house and ‘Leash’ had a large room on the second floor. She didn’t turn the light on when they went in. She turned to face him and they stripped each other, unlacing, unzipping and shedding clothes.
Mason’s lust enveloped her and consumed her for over an hour and she drank in his passion and desire. The sex was good and when they finally sank away from each other both were satisfied.
“You want something to eat?” She asked.
“Yeah and a drink.”
They went to the kitchen, she in a short black Kimono style dressing gown and he with a towel around his waist. She got him a beer from the fridge and began making him sandwich.
“Why are the police after you?”
“I’m an assassin.”
“Isn’t that just a posh word for killer?”
“I suppose. You scared?”
She smiled. “A little, but I like danger. How do you become a paid killer?”
He didn’t answer.
“Oh is that one of those you can tell me, but you’d have to kill me questions?”
When he didn’t speak she turned with the bread knife.
“You aren’t going to kill me are you?” She waved the knife in front of her.
Mason’s move was fast, the scissor hands knocked the knife away and he stepped in grabbing the back of her head with his left hand and his right hand sliding between her arms and her back, pinning her suddenly, unable to move due to the edge of the kitchen side against which her arms were held tight. He looked in her eyes and strangely they were defiant, not afraid. He leant in and tenderly kissed her lips.
“No, but make no mistake that I can at any time, that enough danger for you?”
‘Leash’ smiled. “You are a bad boy aren’t you?”
They went back to her room with snacks and drinks. In spite of his reservations Mason was drawn to her. She had, he could tell, reserves of strength and courage. She had spirit and character. Most women he met weakly surrendered to him, but she had bucked and fought back, scratching and pulling.
“I could be your secretary. You know. You on some job somewhere calling me and me watching your back.”
“You’ve seen too many films. It’s not like that. It’s lonely, messy, frightening and you never have anyone you can trust.”
“What if you could trust me, you wouldn’t be alone then.”
Mason got up and walked to the window and looked out of a parted gap. There was a million on this hit, enough for him to retire to a non-extradition country and then what? Whores would take his money or stitch him up and he’d have to work again. With a girl he could trust he could settle. The last few days and how close the security services were at the moment made him feel that it was time to quit. He’d rather taken to ‘Leash’ and he felt he could control her. He turned, dropped his towel and walked over to the bed.
“Let’s talk about what you can be for me in the morning, in the meantime…” He climbed onto the bed and slipped off her robe.
Around midnight ‘Leash’ woke with a strong urge to urinate. She disengaged from Mason’s arm, which pinned her to the bed, and extracted herself from the ‘spoons’ position they had adopted after sex, necessary for them both to sleep in her single bed.
Mason didn’t wake, but he mumbled in his sleep, hand twitching on a fantasy pistol trigger. “Time now Jono…time…priory… at the priory…” His foot kicked out and he shifted slightly. ‘Leash’ watched his face, it was tense. Perhaps that was what it was like for men who lived his way, never relaxed.
She went to the toilet looked in on Leah’s room, the ‘satanic meringue’ girl with whom she shared the house. She was surprised that she hadn’t come home. Maybe she’d scored at last. ‘Leash’ smiled and went back to bed, easing herself onto the bed and pulling Mason’s arm over her. ‘Priory’ she thought, ‘maybe he had killed a priest?’
Chapter 79
Mayfair Rendezvous Casino
11 p.m.
April 18th
The Rendezvous casino in Mayfair on Old Park Lane was as plush and luxurious as it sounded. After the taxi had dropped him off Cobb squared his shoulders and strode in with confidence. He bought four hundred pounds worth of chips and after walking amongst the tables he went for a drink in the up stairs bar. Sitting on a too comfortable spotted seat under multi coloured tile decor he frowned at the somewhat chintzy look of the place. His over expensive bourbon on ice was finished too soon and he was unhappily reminded of the smoking laws. He put away his ‘Luckies’ pack and Zippo and went down stairs.
He chose American Roulette in the end and sat down in a spare seat. A short haired man in a casual suit was making a pile of chips to his left. The blonde casino worker smiled at him as he sat down and he took in her black uniform, tight in the right places and accentuating her curves. Her neat make up and bright blue eyes were the friendly face of the casino.
The man to his left placed one hundred pounds in tens around the black twenty, a lady who must have been in her fifties, low cut dress showing ageing cleavage and mottled neck, followed his lead saying ‘I might as well ride your luck’ and gave the younger man a wink.
He smiled back faintly at the clumsy ‘pass’ and Cobb noted the woman’s accent as American, though, explaining her extrovert bravado, tinged with an alcohol slur. Cobb looked the young man over. The suit was blue grey tonic, the shirt silk and the watch on the hairy wrist was an Omega. The man’s face was tanned and his dark eyes and short cut, expensively untidy hair was black. He had a Mediterranean look. As Cobb watched a lean, gorgeous, tanned beauty in a long green dress, low neck line and smooth rounded cleavage, decorated with pearls came over and stood at the end of the table by the roulette wheel. Her auburn hair was ‘up’ showing a smooth tanned neck. Cobb was smitten.
He placed five twenty pound chips around the table, all on black numbers and a hundred pounds in chips on the black.
When red nineteen came up, the ball clattering to a halt in the ‘cup’ there was an unhappy sigh from the older lady.
“Now you owe me a spin. “ She said laughingly.
Again the good looking young man smiled faintly.
Both he and Cobb repeated their bets, Cobb knowing that he’d be out in two turns if he lost again, but he and the
young man were lucky. The spinning wheel slowed clattering the ball into black twenty. A pile of chips to the sum of three hundred and sixty made its way to Cobb’s left and Cobb got his two hundred. The older American woman laughed aloud when she got her three hundred and sixty.
“Now we’re even. We make a good team!” The young man didn’t reply, but gave a knowing look to the girl in the green dress. She returned the look. The American woman saw the connection and accepted her defeat at the perfectly manicured hands of the younger woman. The young man was not to be the lady’s.
“Maybe I’ll try ‘blondie’ here, what say handsome?” She leaned over Cobb’s way.
“Sure I’m going red this time if you want in?”
“Hey! Fellow American! We should stick together baby.”
The young man bet tens around the black ten and Cobb bet red, putting fifty on red and a hundred on the red three. The lady put all of her chips, seven hundred pounds, on red three.
When the wheel clattered to a stop it was black two. The old lady groaned. Cobb rose to go.
“What say you buy me a drink handsome and we’ll call it quits.” The American woman stumbled as she got up. Cobb nodded. As she walked towards him he noted her mutton dressed as lamb look, but figured her for a sure thing in her state.
“I’m staying at Claridge’s, you want to come back, get a little champagne and room service?” he asked giving her wink.
“You rogue, you want to take advantage of a rich widow.” She took his arm.
“It’s a thought at that.” He said and led her to a taxi. She wasn’t a dream girl, but it wouldn’t be a total loss if he got laid.
A taxi took them back to the hotel, she was drunkenly noisy and Cobb had steered her quickly through reception up to the room. She was impressed with the suite. They ordered champagne and food. He ordered a bottle of bourbon and got good and drunk. The American woman, Betty, was well preserved bodily, plastic surgery had been good to her, but Cobb couldn’t have slept with her sober. She guzzled champagne and chattered inanely.
After finally getting into a ‘clinch’ they staggered to the bed and sweated half an hour away together, she thinking of the young man and Cobb fantasising she was the auburn haired girl.
To Kill Or Be Killed Page 22