Джеймс Паттерсон - Revenge

He spread his hands, thinking, I can’t win . “I just want to be there. See to it they don’t end up doing something stupid.”

“You don’t want revenge?”

He shook his head emphatically. “No. I don’t want revenge. What I want is to stop this from escalating.” It was the truth. He wasn’t in it for payback. A whole bunch of other reasons, maybe. But not that.

She looked at him. “All right, I’ll take your word for it. But listen, Shelley, if you need backup . . .”

“You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here. But look, don’t do anything that needs backup, okay? Go in there, tell them not to be such gung-ho arseholes, and get back out again, all right?”

“Roger that,” he said.

“You owe me a brainstorming session, remember?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, and one more thing, Shelley.”

“Yes?”

“Susie Drake. She’s a good-looking broad.”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“Anything ever happen between you?”

“No,” he replied. “You and I were engaged at the time.”

“I’ve got eyes, Shelley, and I know potential when I see it.” She pursed her lips, giving him a comical look that nevertheless held serious intent. “Just you watch yourself, okay?”

He smiled, relieved the moment was over. “Don’t you worry about me, Luce.”

During the drive he tried to clear his mind. He knew what his job was: making sure Guy Drake’s thirst for revenge didn’t result in a bloodbath. He’d packed enough to stay a few nights—plenty of time to talk some sense into Camp Drake. He resolved to have a quiet word with Guy and Susie—a chance to lay down some of the ground rules—before he did anything else.

When he arrived, he saw the usual array of vehicles in the drive, although in place of the electric-blue BMW was a van with the words “Freeman Van Hire” emblazoned on the side. He looked at it for a moment, puzzling over its incongruity, wondering if it was at all significant.

The front door was ajar and he let himself in. Right away his heart sank when he saw that one of his key demands had been ignored. Last night on the phone he’d told Susie he didn’t want to work with either Gurney or Johnson. As in, he refused to work with either Gurney or Johnson. It was either them or him.

“I’ll inform Lloyd,” she’d said, which Shelley had taken to mean: I’ll tell Lloyd to give them the boot .

But although there was no sign of that Johnson turkey, Gurney was there, and still giving Shelley the skunk eye, as though he was sitting on some insults he was just dying to deliver, a thin veneer of professionalism preventing his true feelings from seeing daylight.

And so, with no sign of Susie or Drake, Shelley grabbed hold of Bennett and took him to one side, which in this case was the Drakes’ pool-hall-sized kitchen.

“What the fuck is going on, Bennett?”

The other man held up his hands, a gesture Shelley was beginning to realize was as much his habit as chewing was for Guy Drake. “Well, it’s nice to see you too, Shelley, good morning and all that. Have you had a coffee yet?”

“Yeah, yeah. Yadda yadda yadda. What’s Gurney doing here?”

“He’s here because I need him, that’s all there is to it.”

“Well, then, maybe Susie didn’t tell you what we discussed last night, because one of the conditions of me coming was no Gurney, and no Johnson.”

“And Johnson isn’t here. Do you see Johnson? Johnson has the day off; he’ll play no part in this operation. Doesn’t even know it’s happening. But I need a three-man team on this. You of all people should know that.”

“What operation?” Shelley was getting a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach. “What are you talking about?”

“We’ve located Foxy Kittenz, where Emma killed herself.”

“And . . . ?”

Bennett’s eyes did the military look left and right, a look that meant: This is not my idea, I’m following orders here. “And we’re paying it a visit,” he said.

“When? Not . . .”

“In one. Tonight.”

Shelley pulled off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. “Right, look, I know where you’re coming from on this. I know Guy. He’s hurting. He wants revenge and he’s used to getting what he wants. But Susie’s worried about him. I’m worried about him. The point of me being here is to stop him doing anything stupid. You said so yourself last night, remember? Or did I imagine that?”

Bennett pulled his hands from his pockets, tipped his glasses up his nose, and then leaned to Shelley, taking him into his confidence. “You’re right. Maybe I’m just a bit out of my depth here.”

“I never said—”

“You didn’t need to.” He lowered his head as though finally admitting an uncomfortable truth. “Maybe you should speak to Mr. Drake. He’ll listen to you.” Clearing his throat awkwardly, he added, “He wants to burn the place down.”

Shelley gaped. “ He what? All right, where are they?”

Drake and Susie chose that moment to enter the kitchen, Susie in front and Drake wheeling two small suitcases just behind. Shelley’s own overnight holdall was still at his feet. He hadn’t yet removed his coat, and he looked from Susie to Drake as the couple joined them at the kitchen’s central island.

“David,” she said, coming close to kiss him. Enveloping him in a cloud of perfume. That perfume again. That same perfume.

“Susie,” he said, softening, “we need to have a word.”

“Of course, of course. You’re probably wondering what’s going on.”

“You might say that.” He gestured at the suitcases. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Into town,” said Drake, by which of course he meant into London.

“Tonight? Right. What about this . . .  operation ?”

For a moment he allowed himself to believe that it was all a case of crossed wires, until Susie reached for him, her head tilted to one side. “Oh, David, I’m sorry it’s such short notice. I had no idea about this when I spoke to you last night, but thanks to Mr. Bennett, we’ve found out where—”

“He told me. What I want to know is what you’re planning to do.”

“We’re going to get those scum tonight, whether you like it or not,” Drake said, defiant, angry, and commanding. “Do you understand me, chief ? We’ll start with this lot tonight and then we’ll move on to the dealers. Now, you’re in my house, on my dollar, and you’d better get your head round that or you might as well sling your hook right now.”

Shelley shrugged and reached for his holdall.

“David, no,” said Susie quickly. She turned to Drake. “David isn’t here to stop you taking action—‘revenge,’ if you want to call it that. He’s here to prevent you doing something stupid. Something that’ll come back to haunt us. That’s what you need to get your head round.”

Bennett took a deep breath. “There’s a famous proverb,” he said. “Confucius, I think. When going in search of revenge, first dig two graves, one for your enemy and one for yourself.”

“Who the fuck’s side are you on?” Drake said, turning to Bennett. “Matter of fact, who the fuck’s side are you all on?” He waved a hand, and for the first time Shelley noticed Gurney, who stood by the door to the kitchen and watched them with his arms folded across his chest and an amused expression on his face.

“Yours, sweetheart,” said Susie to Drake. She gently calmed him and the color in his cheeks gradually subsided and the fire in his eyes dimmed. Shelley had seen Drake rattled before—the kidnap attempt for one. But he’d never seen him like this. Never seen him so close to the edge. Susie turned to Shelley. “I got tickets for a show, reservations for dinner, and booked us in at the Connaught.”