Howard Linskey: The Drop

‘Might I remind you Miss,’ DI Clifford hissed through gritted teeth, ‘that I am very much aware of your client and his role within the so-called Gallowgate Leisure Group.’

At this point I wanted to say ‘if you’re so clever Inspector, how is it that I’ve got your right hand man on my payroll and you haven’t even worked that out, but I obviously thought better of it. He turned his attention back to me. He leaned forward so that he was stretching right over the desk, deliberately invading my personal space, ‘I suppose you are going to try and convince me you have never even heard of a man called Vitaly Litchenko?’

‘Oh yes, I have heard of him’ I said calmly and DI Clifford frowned in surprise. I could see Sharp looking a little nervous at this point, ‘doesn’t he play for Chelsea?’

I was almost at my car when DI Clifford caught up with me. He sounded excitable.

‘I want you to know something, off the record,’ he told me, ‘with no solicitors around. This is just between you and me. I want you to be aware that I know what’s going on. I just can’t prove it yet but I’m going to.’

‘Really,’ I said trying to look unconcerned.

‘Yes I do,’ he told me, ‘Bobby Mahoney isn’t dead. He’s very much alive. He just used a war with that piss ant, little pretend gangster from Glasgow to get the fuck out of it. I know Tommy Gladwell. I know all about him and he didn’t have the brains to mastermind a takeover of this city. Bobby killed him, his wife and their bodyguards and they probably deserved it too, the bloody fools. Bobby’s abroad somewhere but he’s still running things. I know it and I won’t rest until I prove he’s alive and bring him back here in handcuffs. You tell him this from me. He can run but he can’t hide!’ I tried to look a little bit sideswiped by this outburst and it worked. ‘I knew it!’ he said triumphantly, ‘I’m right. Go on, admit it, just between us.’

I paused then, waiting for as long as I could before answering him, watching his piggy little eyes glaze with expectation.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I told him as I climbed into my car. I closed the door on his indignant face and started the engine.

‘I will find him,’ he called through the glass, ‘I will!’ ‘Give my regards to Lord Lucan while you’re at it,’ I muttered to myself as I drove sharply away.

Look at him. Go on, look. Take a good, long look. Scary isn’t he; standing there by the swimming pool, five feet eight inches of muscular, killing machine and about as hard as granite.

Not a big guy but he’s a Gurkha, ex-British Army, Palmer put me on to them. Him and his mates don’t come cheap but they are worth it because they have a very important job to do, the most important there is. They are keeping me alive.

He won’t leave my side today and his mates are patrolling the grounds of my new home right now; a huge, luxurious, state-of-the-art, all-mod-cons, gated compound, not a stone’s throw from the Hua Hin resort where I took Laura on holiday, about a lifetime ago now. Funny how things work out isn’t it?

Sarah comes out of our house looking beautiful in her tiny, little, white bikini and he doesn’t even notice her as she pads past him in her bare feet, hips rolling. At least he pretends not to, doesn’t even give her a look, not even a quick, furtive, sidelong glance as she flips her pert, little arse up in the air into a perfect dive before disappearing beneath the cool, clear water. Instead he just stands there, that big fuck-off Kalashnikov slung on his shoulder, staring straight ahead like a tin soldier. He can’t be human. I mean if you can’t enjoy a sight like that you’re not alive, not really. But me? I’m just glad he is so dedicated, so focused, so completely in the zone, concentrating on nothing more than keeping me breathing, just so long as I keep on paying.

And he is loyal, which helps in my business. Like I told you, loyalty is a rare and underestimated commodity these days. At least it is in my game. You want my opinion? You can’t put a price on loyalty.

And my tin soldier and his mates are loyal.

At least, I fucking hope they are…