Quintin Jardine - Alarm Call

For Prim, these manifested themselves in me heaving her off me, and tossing her clean over the back of the couch, in a single action. For the guy with the camera, they took the form of me surging to my feet, instantly detumescent, and lurching, snarling, after him. Fortunately for him, my legs weren’t working too well. He had a further lucky break when Prim rose like a dragon from behind the upholstery and went for me, in an entirely different way from before. She didn’t delay me for long, only for the amount of time it took me to clip her on the chin and knock her on her arse again. . You’re shocked that Oz hit a woman? You can’t believe that Oz hit Primavera? Well, get over it!. . but it was crucial.

By the time I reached the door it was open, and he was through it, and heading for the nearest escape route, in this case an open lift door. Nothing was holding me back, though: I was going to catch the bastard, I was going to tear him into the smallest pieces I could manage, and then I was going to eat them. I set off after him; I thought I was sprinting, but I think I was really doing a slow-motion jog through candyfloss.

Life’s small coincidences can make so much difference. By sheer chance, as I passed the nearest elevator, it opened and Liam Matthews stepped out, with Erin behind him. He took one look, and grabbed hold of me. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he asked, not unreasonably.

I struggled against him, pointing along the hallway: ‘I’m going to kill that bastard,’ I shouted. ‘The fucker with the camera.’ Liam glanced over his shoulder, just in time to see the man. . He was wearing shades and a tan jacket, but he was clean-shaven. Isn’t it funny how tiny details stick in your mind?. . disappear into the lift.

‘Not in that state you’re not, Oz,’ he said, then he slapped a half-nelson on me, wrestled me back to my room, and forced me inside. Someone else might have had trouble doing that, but not him. ‘Liam,’ I pleaded, almost coherently, ‘you’ve got to get him. Don’t let him leave the hotel.’

‘I won’t,’ he promised. ‘At least I’ll try. Now you get control of yourself, and cover that monster up.’ He slammed the door in my face.

Prim was still on the floor when I went back into the living area. She was groggy, but I picked her up, slung her over my shoulder and staggered off towards her room, grabbing the discarded sarong as I went. The door was open; even in my confused state I remembered that it had been closed earlier, and guessed that she had hidden her partner there.

As I threw her on to the bed I was still dazed from whatever it was that had happened to me. It must still have been working on me, for part of me. . the part with a forked tail and horns … wanted her again.

Thankfully, the side of me with the white gown, the wings and the halo won the internal battle. It was pretty close, but he just nicked it on a split points decision.

I dragged her across to the big wardrobe, slung open the door and used her slinky garment to lash her wrists to the hanging rail. She didn’t like it, but she had the sense not to resist. Okay, it might not have been a very angelic thing to do, but I hope you’ll agree that, all things considered, it was understandable.

I wove my way back to my own room. My vision was still a bit fuzzy and my mind was all over the place. I tried to pull all the strands of what had happened together, but couldn’t hold them in place for more than a couple of seconds at a time. I stared around me for a while, at nothing at all, until I caught sight of a large naked figure looking at me. I focused on him, and that was when I realised that the mirrored doors of the wardrobe were closed. I realised also that I looked totally out of my skull.

I went into ‘His’ bathroom and stood under the shower. After a couple of minutes, it occurred to me to switch it on, full blast.

I put my palms flat against the wall and let the needle-sharp spray pound into my head for quite a while … for more than five minutes, to be a little more accurate. (I wasn’t completely naked; I still had on my Rolex.) My ear stung, but I didn’t care as I felt my other senses return along with the pain.

I towelled myself more or less dry as quickly as I could, slipped on a pair of jeans and a seriously loud Paul Smith shirt that I’d bought on the Strip the night before, and went back out to the scene of the crime. I was picking up my discarded clothes when I heard Prim yell my name.

I went through to her room. Even in my bamboozled state I’d made a good job of tying her up. The knots were tight and the rail was strong; she was just where I’d left her, as I’d left her. There must have been some of the goofy juice left in my bloodstream, for I grinned at her, licked my lips and started to unzip my fly. She looked at me in something like horror, until I winked at her, zipped it up again and untied her.

Just then there was a thump on the door. I went through to open it, to find Liam there, with Daze, blocking out the light as usual. ‘Did you catch him?’ I asked, but I could read the answer in their eyes, even before the big man shook his head.

‘We looked all over the place,’ said Liam. ‘Eventually I found a bellboy who said that he saw a man in a tan jacket running out of the door and across the bridge.’

I took them into the living area. ‘If you want a drink, use the bar,’ I told them. ‘Don’t touch the Chablis or those glasses.’ They were both still on the table; mine was empty, but the other was untouched. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

When I walked in on Prim she was trying to smooth the wrinkles from her sarong. ‘I need to shower,’ she muttered, glaring at me.

‘Go ahead,’ I told her.

‘Well, get out, then.’

I laughed. ‘I’m not taking my eyes off you, honey. You shower, I watch, to make sure you don’t do anything else stupid.’

She took a lot less time than I had: she was in and out of there in under two minutes. I found a Bellagio robe hanging behind the door and handed it to her. ‘You’ll dry in that,’ I said. Then I took her back to the wardrobe and tied her up again.

‘What are you doing?’ she protested.

‘Call it a citizen’s arrest,’ I told her. ‘You and I are going to have a long talk, but only when I’m good and ready. Until then you’re staying here. Oh, yes, and don’t think about yelling again. There’s nobody out there who’ll come to help you.’

I looked at her. ‘You did it so well, you know. You did meet a guy at Gleneagles two years ago, and he was registered as Wallinger, but it was after the real Paul had his stroke. You’ve really been setting me up for that long?’

She nodded; there was an air of triumph about her. ‘I really have.’

‘What did you use on me? Rohypnol?’

‘Hell, no, that turns everything blue these days. I used stuff called GHB; it’s known on the street as Fantasy, or sometimes Georgia Home Boy, or even GBH. Colourless, odourless and virtually tasteless; you’d never notice it in a bottle of Chablis. . and, Oz, my love, I’ve never seen you turn down a glass of Chablis in my life. Its effects, mixed with alcohol. . well, big boy, you know about them now.’ She paused. ‘So do I, come to think of it. Expansive, you might say; I must try it on someone again sometime.’

She frowned. ‘I wasn’t sure about the dose, though. If we’d overdone it you’d have gone comatose on me, but as it turned out we didn’t give you quite enough.’

I hated to think what any more would have done to me. ‘That’s just one small detail, though; you were so bloody meticulous with everything else, but what about the breakin at your flat? Why did you fake that?’

‘To back up the Paul identity, of course. We set up a fake account for him with a bookie, then built up some debts just before it was time to make our move, to give everyone who might investigate yet another reason for him to have done a bunk. I knew that you and your spy Kravitz would go looking for him. We had to give you something to find.’