Stephen Leather - Tango One

"Burger King's better. Everyone knows that. Are we going home?"

"Home?"

"Our house. You're not going to stay with Aunty Laura, are you?"

Donovan put his son back on the ground and ruffled his hair.

"We can talk about that later," he said.

"There's something we've got to do first."

Laura came out of the kitchen.

"Are you staying for dinner, Den?"

"Father and son time," laughed Donovan.

"Junk food's a-calling."

They caught a black cab to Queensway and Donovan took his son into Whiteley's shopping centre. Donovan headed towards a photograph machine on the ground floor.

"What are we doing, Dad?" asked Robbie.

"Passport pictures," said Donovan, helping him into the booth. He gave him two one-pound coins and showed him how to raise the seat.

"I've already got a passport," said Robbie.

"Your mum took it," said Donovan.

"Why?"

"I don't know. You'll have to ask her."

"Why do I need a passport?"

"For God's sake, Robbie, will you just do as you're told?" Donovan snapped.

Robbie's face fell and he pulled the curtain shut.

Donovan leaned against the machine.

"Robbie, I'm sorry."

Robbie didn't say anything. There were four flashes and then Robbie got out of the booth. He didn't look at Donovan. Donovan ruffled his son's hair.

"I'm having a bad day, Robbie. I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Robbie's voice was flat and emotionless and he still wouldn't look at Donovan.

"We'll go to Burger King, yeah?"

Robbie nodded.

"What are you going to do to mum?"

Donovan's jaw dropped.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not going to let her get away with it, are you?"

"Your mum's made her bed, now she's got to lie in it."

"Will you get divorced?"

"After what she's done, Robbie, she can't come back."

"Yeah, I know. I won't have to stay with her, will I?"

Donovan knelt down so that his face was level with Robbie's.

"Of course not."

"Most of my friends, when their parents split up, they have to live with their mums."

"Yeah, but this is different."

"I know, but it's the judge who decides, right?"

Donovan shook his head.

"After what she did, no judge is going to let her take you away from me. That's as long as you want to stay with me. You do want to stay with me, right?"

"Sure!" said Robbie quickly.

"So that's sorted." Donovan gently banged Robbie's chin with his fist.

"You and me, okay?"

"Okay, Dad."

The strip of photographs slid out of the machine. Robbie picked it up and studied it.

"I look like a geek."

Donovan took the photographs off him.

"You look great." He put the photographs in his pocket. One of the two mobiles he was carrying started to warble. It was the one Rojas was supposed to use. Donovan pressed the phone against his ear.

"How's it going, capullo? he asked, turning away from Robbie.

"The parcel has been dispatched," said Rojas.

"I'm already working on the second matter."

"De puta madre," said Donovan.

"You'll send my fee?"

"Absolutely," said Donovan, though he wished he felt half as confident as he sounded. The line went dead. The Spaniard, like Donovan, always kept calls on mobile phones as short as possible. Even the digitals weren't secure. Virtually no form of communication was these days.

Phones, e-mail, letters, all could be intercepted and recorded. Donovan put the phone away and smiled down at Robbie.

"Burger King, yeah?"

Robbie grinned and nodded.

"Great." They walked together out of the shopping centre.

"Dad, you know I know what capullo means, don't you?" asked Robbie.

"I do now," said Donovan.

Robbie's grin widened.

"You should wash your mouth out with soap."

"I'll do that, soon as we get home. But burgers first, yeah?"

Stewart Sharkey carried the two glasses of champagne out on to the terrace and handed one to Vicky. She took it but didn't look at Sharkey. She stared out across the azure Mediterranean with unseeing eyes.

"Cheers," said Sharkey, and touched his glass against hers.

She looked at him slowly, then at the glass in her hand. She frowned, as if seeing it for the first time.

"What have we got to celebrate?" she asked.

"Champagne's not just for celebrating," said Sharkey. He dropped down on to the lounger next to her.

Vicky stared out over the sea again. The bay was dotted with massive white yachts, each worth millions of dollars, and around them moved smaller boats, like worker ants in attendance to the queen.

"We could get a boat," said Sharkey.

"Sail away."

"Den always talked about getting one," said Vicky, her voice flat and emotionless.

"We can do it, Vicky. Tomorrow."

"Where would we go?" she said.

"He'll find us eventually."

"Not here. He's never been to the South of France. Hates the French, you know that. He's no friends here. No contacts."

Vicky turned to look at him.

"So that's the great plan? We stay in Nice for the rest of our lives."

"For God's sake, Vicky, snap out of this, will you!"

She sneered at him and looked away.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly.

"I didn't mean to snap." Vicky didn't react. Sharkey put down his glass and knelt down by the side of her lounger. He stroked her shoulder.

"This is temporary, Vicky. Just until we get things sorted."

Vicky shook her head.

"This isn't getting things sorted. This is hiding."

A red and white helicopter buzzed towards one of the biggest yachts in the bay. Sharkey continued to stroke her shoulder. Her skin was smooth and warm from the sun. He moved his hand up to her neck and ran his fingers through her soft, blonde hair.

"I miss Robbie," she said quietly.

"I know you do."

"I don't think you do," she said.

"You don't have children. You don't know what it's like to have them taken away from you. And that's what Den's going to do. You know that. He'll take Robbie to the Caribbean and I'll never see him again."

"You took his passport, Den can't take him anywhere."

Vicky scowled.

"That's not going to stop him. Den's got half a dozen passports. He can just as easily get one for Robbie."

Sharkey tried to kiss her cheek but she pushed him away.

"Stewart, I don't want to be touched right now. Okay?"

Sharkey put his hands up in surrender.

"Okay. I'm sorry." He sat down on the edge of her lounger.

"Look, there are things we can do. Things I can do. I'll talk to a lawyer. Get some sort of injunction stopping Den taking Robbie out of the country."

"You said we couldn't talk to anyone back in the UK?"

"I'll get it done. I'll find a way. And things are going to get hot for Den he won't be able to hang around London for long."

Vicky shaded her eyes with the flat of her hand.

"What do you mean?"

"Den's got problems, you know that. Customs and the cops will be waiting for him to put a foot wrong. He can't operate in London. He'll have to go back to the Caribbean. And if I talk to a lawyer, he won't be able to take Robbie with him. Once he's gone, we can go back to the

"Den won't run away with his tail between his legs."

"No, but he won't risk twenty years in prison. He's got stuff on the go, and he's going to have to take care of business. He can't do that in London." Sharkey looked earnestly at Vicky, his eyes burning into hers.

"I know what I'm doing, Vicky. I know this is a mess but you're going to have to trust me. Den's as mad as hell just now, but he'll calm down. He'll negotiate. He'll have to."

"Because he wants his money back?"

"Exactly."

"How much did you take, Stewart?"

Sharkey looked away.

"Enough to hurt him. Enough for him to know that he can't push us around."