Adrian Magson - Retribution

The men, Maria had told him, were local enforcers employed by criminals involved in the porn industry. Their primary function was to close down rival operations and to deter actors and technicians from working for anyone their bosses didn’t approve of. With the vast amounts of money to be made from the industry, they made sure their methods were effective. She said the three men Harry had confronted had been sent with orders to deal with Bikovsky.

‘He is filming,’ she said quickly, as Jerry scuttled away to the sanctuary of his restaurant. ‘He tried to get me involved, too. It is good money, but not nice work.’ She pulled a face. ‘I could never go home again afterwards. I told Don one day he will get something bad. . a disease. . but he does not seem to care.’

Harry asked, ‘Are you and he close?’

Maria looked shocked at the suggestion. ‘No — nothing like that. Don, he’s OK, you know. But there are times when he is not such a nice man.’ She looked guilty for a second, then explained, ‘He saved me once from a guy on the beach. It was just some kid looking for easy money, you know? But Don, he thought he was trying to. . to hurt me. He beat him very bad. He has demons. . I think he is a very sad man. Unhappy. In his eyes he is gone away somewhere else. But he never hurt me.’

‘Does he use drugs?’

Maria shrugged eloquently. ‘I never see him. That is something you will have to ask him.’

The traffic on the way up to the canyons above Los Angeles was less frenetic, but still took over an hour, with two accidents and some heavy roadworks to be negotiated on the way. The road began to climb steadily, snaking past large, impressive properties behind high walls and grilled entrances, the grounds planted with arrays of trees, laurel, mimosa and palms. On the way they passed celebrity tour buses full of tourists, and Harry was struck by how the desperate search for privacy by the rich and famous dovetailed so well with the tourist industry.

Rik was navigating, the car’s satnav having given up en route, and called out the address Maria had given him. It was beyond the Ventura Freeway past Universal City and Glendale. According to Maria, it was a large house with extensive grounds and heavy security. She hadn’t said how she knew that.

Harry turned into the road and drifted along until he saw the house number. Up here the air was warm and less muggy compared with the city or even Venice Beach. With the occasional glimpses he caught on the way up of the ocean and downtown LA stretching away into the distance, he figured he could possibly force himself to spend some time here if the need ever arose.

Maria had been right — it was a large place. Set behind locked iron gates topped with a camera, it owed its style to Spanish and Moorish influences, and Harry wondered how many millions of dollars it would fetch on the open market.

Three cars were parked on the gravel drive, their bodywork gleaming in the sun. A man in jeans and T-shirt was hosing down a green Rolls-Royce, while alongside stood a Lexus and a muscle Jeep bristling with chrome, raised suspension and huge tyres. The porno business evidently paid well.

Harry leaned out and tapped a button on an intercom post at the side of the entrance. Seconds later a voice answered, asking his business. The man with the hose stopped what he was doing and looked in their direction.

‘I’d like to speak to Don Bikovsky, please,’ Harry told the metal box.

‘Sorry — we have no one of that name here.’ The response was immediate, automatic and, to Harry, not surprising, given what was allegedly going on here.

He tried again. ‘I’ve been advised differently.’

‘Then your information is incorrect, sir. This is a private residence. You can turn round in the entrance.’ The box clicked off and Harry heard the buzz of a camera above the gate as it focussed in on his face.

He pressed the button again. ‘Perhaps you could you tell Don that I have some urgent information for him. My name’s Tate and I believe his life is in danger.’

A short silence, then, ‘Wait. . I’ll see what I can find out.’

They sat and waited. Five minutes, then ten. The car washer had disappeared. One or two vehicles passed, glossy and exclusive, followed by the inevitable tour bus, but nobody showed any interest. Other than the faint sound of a water sprinkler and a few birds singing in the trees, the area was very peaceful.

There was a tapping noise on Harry’s side window. He turned and saw Bikovsky scowl at him. Harry lowered the window.

‘What do you want, man?’ The ex-Marine sounded irritated. If he remembered Harry, he was doing a sterling job of hiding it. He was dressed in baggy swim shorts and trainers, his naked torso rippling with bunched muscle. Whatever else Bikovsky had been doing over the years, he hadn’t ignored his fitness routine. The effect was spoiled, however, by his eyes, which looked red and slightly out of focus.

‘You don’t sound surprised to see me,’ Harry told him. He climbed out of the car, forcing the big man to step back, and looked at the house. ‘Nice place.’

‘It’s a rental. What do you want?’

‘You got my message?’

‘Yeah, I got it. So what? I don’t have to listen to you.’

‘Not even if I can save your life?’

Bikovsky jerked a thumb back at the house. ‘Try getting to the point — I’m on someone else’s dollar right now.’

In contrast to the muscled torso, Harry noticed his fingernails were grubby and bitten to the quick. There was also a smell of cheap oil in the air and a silvery sheen on Bikovsky’s arms and staining the waistband of his shorts.

‘Fair enough. I’ll be quick.’ He spoke without emotion, suddenly wanting to be somewhere else, and trying not to remember what had been said about this man. ‘You remember Orti and Broms? And Carvalho?’

Bikovsky’s face screwed up in mock concentration. ‘Not really. Why — you planning a team reunion? If so, count me out — I don’t do that crap.’ He began to turn away, but Harry’s next words stopped him.

‘They’re all dead.’

The ex-Marine looked at Harry, then bent to peer at Rik inside the car. A flicker of something crossed his face, then was gone. He shrugged. ‘You came all the way out here to tell me that? Why?’

‘Because you’re next on the list.’

Bikovsky blinked. Hard. Whatever his condition, he wasn’t so far gone that he could ignore such a statement. ‘Say what? How come? I never saw those guys after we left that shithole. If they were in a jam and got themselves hit, it don’t concern me.’

The camera whirred again, and they both looked up. Someone in the house was getting impatient. Bikovsky cursed softly.

Harry said, ‘Who says they were in trouble?’ There was no answer to that, so he added, ‘But I’m not talking about it here.’

‘Hey, man — I can’t get away just like that.’ Bikovsky’s voice was urgent, his face turned away from the camera. ‘And in case you didn’t notice, I left the military and I certainly ain’t in KFOR no more. So I don’t have to give you squat.’

Harry shrugged and got back in his car. ‘Well, if you don’t, I’ll let Eddie and Marty know where you are. You know Eddie and Marty?’ The look on Bikovsky’s face confirmed that he did. ‘Well, how would your employers like that? It would look bad on film if you picked up a few bruises.’ He started the engine. ‘By the way, Eddie fell down the stairs outside your apartment. Now they think we’re friends. . and they’re not impressed.’

‘Shit, man!’ Bikovsky protested vehemently. ‘What have you done? You can’t jam me up like that!’

‘Then speak to me. Name a place and make it soon. Then we’ll be out of your hair.’