Stephen Leather - Tango One

"Didn't stop us doing what we were fucking told." He stopped himself and smiled apologetically at Jenny and Julie.

"Sorry, girls. I know I shouldn't be swearing like this but I've had a hell of a day." He smiled again.

"A heck of a day," he corrected himself.

"You're going to have to calm down, Den," said Laura.

"He's nine years old and you're treating him as if he works for you."

"I'm under pressure here, Laura. I need to get out of the country and Robbie's going to have to come with me."

"He can stay here, with us."

"He's my son. He needs his father."

"Then it's time you started acting like one, Den."

Donovan opened his mouth to argue, but he could tell from the look on his sister's face that she was in no mood to back down. He put down his fork.

"You're not leaving the table until you've eaten that," said Laura.

"Ha, ha," said Donovan.

"I mean it," said Laura.

Donovan sighed and picked up his fork. He stabbed a chunk of cucumber and slotted it into his mouth.

"That's better," said Laura. She smiled brightly at her daughters, who were still nervously watching Donovan.

"So, girls, how was your day?" she asked.

Donovan left Laura's house just before ten o'clock. Mark had returned home an hour earlier and they'd all sat in the kitchen and drunk a second bottle of wine after the two girls had gone to bed.

Before Donovan had left, he'd gone up to say goodnight to Robbie, but Robbie had locked the bedroom door and refused to say anything.

Laura pecked Donovan on the cheek on the doorstep.

"You be careful, Den," she said.

"And go easy on Robbie."

"Tell him I'll see him tomorrow. We'll go and have ice cream or something."

"This isn't about ice cream, Den," said Laura.

"It's about being a father."

"I am his father."

"That's right. And being a father means facing up to your responsibilities."

"I don't remember our father being especially responsible." Laura flashed him a tight smile but didn't say anything. Donovan closed his eyes and swore silently as he realised what he'd said.

"Christ, I'm turning into him, aren't I?"

Laura hugged him, pressing her head against his chest.

"No, you're not him. You're not going to run away."

Donovan put his arms around her and held her close.

"I'm being a right bastard to him, aren't I?"

"No, you're not, but he needs your love and your support, Den. He doesn't need to be bossed around."

Donovan nodded.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow. I'll get it sorted, I promise."

They hugged again, then Laura closed the door. Donovan walked along the path to the pavement, then turned and looked back at the house. The bedroom where Robbie was sleeping was on the first floor, the furthest room to the right. Donovan looked up at the window. The curtain twitched. Donovan raised his hand and gave a small wave. The curtain moved to the side and Robbie appeared. He waved down at Donovan, his face close to tears. Donovan smiled and blew his son a kiss. Robbie moved away from the window and the curtain fell back into place.

"Dennis Donovan?"

Donovan whirled around. A small, balding man was walking towards him, his right hand moving inside his fawn raincoat. Donovan reacted immediately, stepping forward to meet the man, his left hand pushing him in the chest, unbalancing him so that he couldn't pull out whatever was concealed underneath the coat. The man started to protest but Donovan carried on moving forward. He grabbed the man's wrist and twisted it hard, then stamped down against the man's shin.

The man yelped and fell back. Donovan kicked the man's feet from underneath him and he slammed into the pavement. Donovan followed the man down, dropping on top of him, his knees pinning the man's arms to the ground. Donovan pulled back his right fist, ready to smash it into the man's face.

"Who the fuck are you?" asked Donovan.

The man was confused, shaking his head, his eyes glazed.

"Who sent you!" shouted Donovan.

"Your wife…" spluttered the man. He'd bitten his lip as he fell and a trickle of blood dribbled down his chin.

"Bitch!" shouted Donovan. He lowered his fist.

"How much did she pay you?" he asked.

"Our standard fee. One hundred and twenty pounds plus expenses."

"What?" Donovan was confused. The going rate for a hit in London was fifteen thousand, minimum.

The front door opened. Mark and Laura were there.

"Den? What's happening?" shouted Mark, rushing down the path to the street.

"Who the fuck are you?" asked Donovan.

"I'm a solicitor's clerk," said the man, gasping for breath.

"I serve writs in the evenings, for the overtime."

"You're what?"

Mark rushed up behind Donovan.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Donovan ignored him.

"You've got a writ for me?"

The man nodded, then coughed violently. He tried to nod towards his chest.

"Inside pocket," he said, then coughed again.

Donovan shoved his hand inside the man's coat and groped around. His fingers found an envelope and he pulled it out. He stared at it. His name was typed on it in capital letters. In the top left-hand corner was the name and address of a firm of City solicitors.

"How did you know where to find me?" Donovan asked.

"I had a list of addresses. This was the third I tried. Can I get up now? My back's killing me."

"Den, what the hell's going on?" asked Mark.

Donovan helped the solicitor's clerk to his feet and brushed down his raincoat.

"Nothing," he said.

"It was a misunderstanding, that's all."

The solicitor's clerk was shaking like a sick dog, and he couldn't look Donovan in the eyes.

Donovan took out his wallet and thrust a handful of fifty-pound notes into the man's hands, then pushed him away. The man walked unsteadily down the street, one hand against the side of his head.

Mark put his hand on Donovan's shoulder.

"Den, would you just tell me what the hell that was all about?" he asked.

Donovan held up the manila envelope.

"Special delivery. Vicky."

Mark frowned.

"What is it?"

"An injunction," said Donovan. He ripped open the envelope and scanned the legal papers.

"Shit," he said.

Laura hurried down the path.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"It's about Robbie," said Donovan.

"It says I can't take him out of the country. Bitch!" He screwed up the papers and threw them into the gutter.

"I'll kill her!"

"Den, calm down," urged Laura. She picked up the papers and straightened them out.

Donovan shook his head, refusing to be mollified.

"Who does the bitch think she is? She fucks around behind my back and then she sets the law on me!"

Laura held out the papers to him.

"You're going to have to show these to a lawyer, Den."

Donovan snatched them from her.

"There's no point in getting upset, Den," said Mark.

"Just calm down."

"Calm down? You fucking calm down. He's my son and she's trying to tell me what I can and can't do? Fuck her! She's dead! Dead meat!"

Donovan stormed off down the street, the legal documents flapping in his hand.

Mark and Laura hugged each other as they watched him go. Upstairs, the curtain twitched at Robbie's bedroom window.

It was hot and airless in the van, and Detective Constable Ashleigh Vincent was all too well aware that her male partner had been on a curry hinge the previous night, but what had happened on the street outside had taken her mind off the pungent odours of chicken vindaloo and Cobra lager. The motor drive clicked away as she took picture after picture of the retreating man in the fawn raincoat.

"Get his car number plate," said Vincent's partner as she focused on the man's vehicle.

"Gosh, I wish I'd thought of that, Connor," said Vincent. Her partner had only been in plainclothes for the best part of a month, but he seemed to be under the impression that he was the senior member of the surveillance team.