Adrian Magson - No Sleep for the Dead

Szulu shrugged, trying not to care. But he felt something inside him cringe with what she was driving at, and hated himself for it. He tried to block out any further thoughts and was relieved she couldn’t see his face.

‘Next time you feel like questioning me,’ she continued, calmly goading, after he’d had time to digest the question, ‘perhaps you’d like to give Mr Pearl a call.’

Pearl. The cold worm of fear broke through in the pit of his stomach at the mention of the name. Ragga Pearl, to give him his full name, was bad fuckin’ news of the worst kind. He was nuts, for one thing. Cold, no messing, clinically insane. And given to taking out his frustrations, real or imagined, on anyone who crossed him. He even made those LA gangstas, with their craze for gold-plated MAC10s and Uzis look socially acceptable.

‘We can leave the Ragga out of it,’ he said quietly, hoping she couldn’t see the tic thumping in the side of his neck. Unfortunately, Ragga Pearl had somehow got it into his head not long ago that Szulu had been disrespectful to him. He hadn’t, actually — it had been a misunderstanding that Szulu thought had long blown over. But crazy-as-a-fruit fly Ragga Pearl didn’t work on the normal human level; one minute he could be all smiles with you, the next you were in a war zone. Worst of all, he had a habit of suddenly calling up remembered hurts long past their sell-by date. And when he did that, if you’d ever looked at him the wrong way, shown disrespect, called against him, then you better head for the Arctic or some such remote place, as far away from his kingdom in south London as you could get.

And the worst of it was, it had taken one phone call from the Ragga, and here he was saddled with this mad old bitch — and she was white! Man, the world had gone crazy. He looked round and the woman smiled, her rouged mouth twisting in a way that made Szulu want to slap her. Not that he was into hitting women, but he was beginning to think there was always a first time. ‘No need, right?’

‘Good. As long as you do your job, I’ll keep Mr Pearl and his demands off your back. And as for any extra duties…well, I think we can start with one this evening. I’ll pay extra, of course.’

He shrugged, but any sense of victory was blanked out by a sick feeling in his gut. For a couple of days, he’d been able to push all thoughts of Pearl out of his head. Now he was back, like the freak of nature that he was. And all it would take was one phone call from this woman…

He wondered how much the Ragga had charged her, his pride hoping it was an extortionately high rate.

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Send them a warning. Just for starters. No violence, though. Not yet.’

‘Okay.’ Szulu dragged the word out, not sure where this was going. She was asking him to put the frighteners on somebody. He was willing to bet it was the woman. Fair enough. He’d deal with anything more if it came up.

‘But be warned, Mr Szulu,’ she added quietly. ‘I will not tolerate disloyalty. I never have. If you cheat me, if you try to short-change me in any way, I will speak to Mr Pearl.’

Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Jesus, this woman and the Ragga? He still couldn’t get his head round that. It was criminal.

‘There’s one thing,’ he said quietly, trying to get his mind onto something more pleasant, and to demonstrate that he wasn’t bothered by her threats.

‘What is it?’

‘What do I call you? Your name’s not really Fraser, is it? Only, I’ve used it a couple of times, and you didn’t reply. I need to know what to call you, right?’

‘How observant of you, Mr Szulu.’ She considered it for a few moments. ‘Very well. You might as well call me by the name Palmer and Gavin know me by.’

‘Which is?’

‘Grossman.’ Her eyes glittered with an unpleasant light. ‘They know me as Lottie Grossman.’

Riley watched the cat patrol the outer edges of the living room and settle down in the kitchen doorway, eyeing her with a flat gaze. It was the usual ritual if she failed to feed him within whatever he considered the allotted timescale. She sighed and got up, her thoughts still on Palmer and what the latest developments of Gillivray’s death might mean for him. For both of them, really; she had, after all, been in the building with Frank when he’d confronted the man.

She opened the fridge. Damn. No cat food. It was on her list of things to buy. Had been for three days, in fact, although the ever-dwindling supply of cans had clearly proved insufficient to remind her.

She threw on her jacket and grabbed her purse. She would have to go to the corner shop. ‘Okay, okay,’ she muttered, riddled with guilt at the way the cat was now staring at her and following her progress to the door. ‘I’ll spring for something special, if that makes you feel any better. God, you’re such a bully.’

She stepped out onto the landing and closed the door behind her, patting her pockets to make sure she’d got her mobile. She could hear Mr Grobowski’s television downstairs, turned up to super-loud, and guessed he was busy cooking tomorrow’s Polish Community Hall lunch while tuned into the soaps.

She was back inside five minutes. As she reached the top of the stairs and leaned to slip her key in the door, she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. It came from slightly above her on the stairs leading to the second floor where the reclusive dowager lady lived. Riley opened her mouth to utter a greeting, although without expecting a reply, when she realised the shape was too tall and slim for the tenant upstairs.

Riley felt rooted to the spot, the bag containing the cat food dropping from her hand and rolling across the landing. The man was simply standing there, not moving, not speaking, utterly still. Even though he was in shadow, she sensed him gazing down at her with frightening intensity.

She tried to speak but nothing came, and felt angry and impotent at her failure to respond. Was this the instinct for flight nullified by fear? It was like a dream she’d had as a child, trying to outrun danger, yet treading through what felt like treacle, her legs unwilling to obey, her voice strangled into silence.

Then the man moved. But instead of coming towards her, he turned and went upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. It was enough to break the moment and Riley shouted, something unintelligible and questioning, before slumping to the floor, legs weak and body trembling.

When she looked up again, he had gone.

She was there when Frank Palmer arrived two minutes later and found her slumped against the wall.

‘Riley?’ He knelt by her side and took her hand. ‘What happened?’ She was shaking but otherwise seemed unhurt. He peered into her eyes and guessed she was in shock.

‘A man,’ Riley said softly, pointing towards the upper stairs. ‘He was standing there, just watching me. I came out to get some cat food and… ‘ She swallowed hard and shook her head as if trying to force herself back to reality. ‘Tall, dark… something about his head… I don’t know. Christ, Palmer, I just froze like some silly kid.’

‘Get inside,’ Palmer instructed her calmly, ‘and lock the door. I’ll be right back.’ He handed her the bag she had dropped, then ran up the stairs. The landing was empty, but a slim side window was open. He looked out and saw two stretches of sloping roof, one below the other. He guessed from the height that it was only a small jump to the ground. From there, access to the street was simple.

He locked the window and went back downstairs. Riley had evidently followed his instructions and disappeared inside her flat, taking the cat food with her. He went out the front door and followed the path to the street, his mind already tracking ahead to where the intruder might have come out. He was betting the man was mobile, but even on foot, he’d need a stretch of clear ground to get away from here.