Stephen Leather - Take Two

‘I’m not lying, I don’t know where it is.’

‘Two million quid doesn’t just go walkabout on its own. The only two people who had signing rights were me and you and if I’d taken the money out I wouldn’t be asking you where it was, would I?’

‘I think he’s broken my bridge,’ said Cohen, gingerly touching his jaw.

‘What fucking bridge?’

‘My bridgework. Three of my teeth, they’re a bridge. He’s broken it.’ Cohen pointed at Mick Halpin, the man who did most of the hurting that Richards needed doing. Halpin was an inch or two shorter than Richards but much wider, with a square shaved head and the thick muscular neck and forearms that came from regular visits to the gym and equally regular purchases of illegal steroids. Halpin had a small gold earring in his left ear and a thick gold chain around his neck. He was wearing an open-necked shirt that was flecked with Cohen’s blood and, as he stared down at Cohen, he cracked his knuckles.

‘The only reason that Mick hit you is because you won’t tell me where my bloody money is. This is on your head, Nicholas. So don’t cry about your busted bridge because it’s all down to you. Now where’s my fucking money?’

‘I told you, I don’t know.’

Richards sighed and waved a languid hand at Halpin. Halpin stepped forward and backhanded Cohen across the face. The sound was as loud as a pistol shot and Cohen fell back onto the white rug. Halpin kicked him hard in the stomach and the accountant curled into a foetal ball.

‘Don’t lie to me, Nicholas,’ said Richards. He looked at his watch, a solid gold Rolex. ‘Stop messing me around. I’ve got to be at the club before it closes.’

Carolyn stood rooted to the spot, her hand over her mouth. The man on the sofa, the good-looking one, was saying something to the man on the floor. The bald man kicked him again and Carolyn winced. She took her mobile phone out of her bag. Still no signal. She began to shake, partly because of the cold but more because of what she was witnessing. Her mind was in a whirl, and she had absolutely no idea what to do. She knew she should just turn and walk away, climb back over the gate and head off down the road, that nothing good could possibly come from her staying where she was. She knew the sensible thing to do was to get away from the house, but it was as if her legs had turned to stone. She stared at the men in the living room, her hand still clamped over her mouth.

Cohen stayed on the floor, curled up with his knees against his chest. ‘Get the fuck up and stop being such a baby, Nicholas,’ said Richards. ‘You took my money. I found out. Now I want it back. You’re going to be eating hospital food for a few weeks, but if you don’t stop fucking around it’s going to be a lot worse than that.’ Cohen didn’t react other than to sniff loudly. ‘Get the fuck up, Nicholas, now!” screamed Richards.

Cohen sniffed again and pushed himself up onto his knees. ‘Warwick, mate, let me tell you what happened,’ he gasped.

Richards stood up and pointed a finger at the kneeling man. ‘You’re no fucking mate of mine, Nicholas. Not after this.’

‘Look, just listen will you. I moved the money, you know that, but I can’t get it back.’ He coughed and spat out bloody phlegm. You know I gamble, right?’

‘What?’

‘Oh come on, mate, we’ve been to the races together. Cheltenham. Goodwood. I took you to Ascot once. All on me, remember?’

‘What’s your point, Nicholas?’

‘Cohen coughed again and sat back on his heels. ‘I had a bad year. I lost more than I won. Hell, I lost a lot more than I won.’

‘How much, Nicholas?’

Cohen shrugged. ‘A few grand at first. So I remortgaged this place. That was easy enough. But I kept on losing. So I borrowed more against the house.’

‘So your bank’s got my money, is that what you’re saying? Then you’re going to have to sell your bloody house if that’s how I get my money back.’

‘I’m sorry, Warwick. It’s more complicated than that.’

‘What do you mean?’

Cohen began to cry and he wiped his cheeks with the palms of his hands.

‘I was chasing my losses. I figured I was just on a bad streak and it would turn, so I borrowed.’

‘Borrowed? From who?’

Cohen swallowed nervously. ‘Lenny Wilson.’

‘Lenny fucking Wilson? Why the fuck would you borrow from that shark?’

‘I know, I know. I just wanted a loan for a week, I had a couple of sure things. But then they lost so I had to borrow more and then he started giving me credit and then…’ He began to sob again and buried his head in his hands.

‘Lenny fucking Wilson has my money? You stole two million quid from me and gave it to Lenny fucking Wilson? How could you lose two million on the horses?’

‘It wasn’t the horses, it was the interest. Ten percent a week. And then he said if I didn’t get the cash he’d kill me. And he meant it, mate. I know he meant it. And it wasn’t two million. It was just a couple of hundred grand, at first. I thought I could win it back so I took some from your account but that went and then I went back to Wilson. Then I had to keep paying.’

‘With my money?’

‘I’m sorry, mate. Really. I’ll get it sorted.’

Richards sneered at Cohen. ‘So what are you saying, that you’re more scared of him than you are of me?’

‘No, I just figured I could get back in the black before you found out. I’ve had a few wins, so I think my luck’s finally changed.’

‘Your luck? You fucking mug. There’s no luck in gambling. You gamble, you lose. It’s just that you’ve lost my fucking money, not your own. My fucking money. Why the fuck did you think you could use my money to pay off your debts, you fucking slag?’

‘Warwick, mate, be reasonable…’

‘Reasonable!’ yelled Richards. ‘You want me to be fucking reasonable. You stupid fucking twat!’ He reached over and grabbed a crystal figurine of a leaping dolphin off the coffee table, swung it to the side and smashed it into the side of Nicholas’s face. Blood splattered across the window behind him and Cohen slumped to the ground without a sound.

Carolyn grunted into her hand, her eyes wide and fearful. Blood began to trickle down the window. She stared in horror as the man in the suit put the crystal dolphin back onto the coffee table. The blow had caught her by surprise — one moment the man had been talking, the next he had picked up the figurine and hit the kneeling man. There was so much blood on the window she was sure he was dead or, at best, seriously injured. Her whole body began to shake. Without realising what she was doing, she took a step forward. Then another. And that was when the security light above the garage clicked on.

Carolyn stood rooted to the spot. The light was blinding — as bad as looking into the sun — and she instinctively threw up a hand to shield her eyes.

A bright white light flooded the lawn and Richards screwed up his eyes. ‘What’s going on out there?’ he said, pointing to the window.

‘It’s the security light,’ said Halpin. ‘Must be motion activated.’ He walked over to the window, pressed his hand against the glass and peered into the garden. ‘Boss, there’s someone out there.’

‘What? Who?’

‘A woman.’

‘Well get the hell after her!’ shouted Richards. He stared down at the blood-spattered body at his feet. ‘Do you see what you’ve done now, you stupid bastard!’ Cohen wasn’t moving and his eyes stared lifelessly up at the ceiling. ‘Oh, shit,’ said Richards.