by James Hilton
“You’ve nothing to feel guilty about. Diana died in a car crash; tragic, but not your fault, Clay.”
“I know that in here,” he tapped the side of his head, then pointed to his chest. “But in here I feel wrong somehow. Look, I’m hardly a monk. I’ve had a few casual partners since Diana but I just can’t seem to settle on one long enough to get attached.”
Pamela smiled and placed her hand on top of his. Her hand looked like a child’s in comparison. “You’ll find the right woman sooner or later. Don’t give up hope.”
“That’s just it, Pam, I’m not even hoping. I know I could pick up a wife if I wanted one, even with this face. Lots of women out there would like a Texan millionaire for a husband. But if I do find another, I want her to want me for the right reasons.”
“Oh, Clay.”
He withdrew his hand and adjusted the cutlery on his plate, flicking at the handle of the fork. “Anyway, all the best girls are already taken.”
Danny joined them at the table in the rear of the club. “Hey.”
Clay hooked a thumb at his brother. “And anyway, I’ve got this millstone around my neck.”
“You referring to me? A millstone? Cheeky bastard.”
“Now, now, boys. Be nice.” Pamela wagged a finger.
The brothers grimaced at each other.
“You fed and watered?” asked Danny.
Clay licked his lips. “I was just gonna ask if Dez had any of that upside-down cake that I tried yesterday. That was really good. I could squeeze some of that in.”
“I’ve never met anyone who ate as much as you and still looked so healthy. Most people would be the shape of a walrus but you look like you just stepped out of a wrestling ring.” Pamela smiled as she headed to the kitchen. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Is Dez still angry?”
Danny nodded in the affirmative. “He’s spittin’ feathers. Can’t blame him though. Old man Torres is like family to him and those biker arseholes did him over something serious. Dez says he’s going to be kept in the hospital for a week or so.”
“We tested those biker boys and they were found wanting.”
“Ay-men to that, big bro.” Danny looked at Clay’s empty plate. “Ready to make a move?”
Clay glanced furtively in the direction of the kitchen door. “Still waitin’ on my cake.”
The door to the club opened and Adam bounced over to the table. The look on his face was akin to a lottery winner who’d just been told the good news. “I did it!” he announced triumphantly.
“Finally got laid?”
Adam grinned at Clay. “Nah, man, time for that later. I hacked the villa!”
Clay grinned back. The kid was a lot brighter than he looked. “And it works?”
“Yeah. I checked it before I left. We’ve got access to all the cameras and we can see anything that he looks at online. Works just like a keystroke logger. Anything they type we can see. The camera feed is—”
“We just need to know it works. Nice work, Adam. You did good.” Danny patted him on the shoulder. “How did you get on with buying those cars?”
“Mission accomplished. Two cars: strong bodies, good engines. Low centres of gravity. They’re parked out back. I brought one over before work this morning and I drove the other over just now.” Adam struck a hero pose, hands on his hips and chest expanded, enjoying his moment. “So, guys, who’s the best?”
Clay smiled despite wanting to keep a lid on Adam’s exuberance. “You are, Adam. You are.” He tried not to stare as Adam’s right eye parted company from his left. Clay couldn’t recall Superman ever counting his teeth with the tip of his tongue yet Adam held the heroic pose for another few seconds.
The moment was broken by Pamela’s arrival. “One supersized order of upside-down cake.”
Clay began to devour the sponge base topped with baked apple sauce. Pamela noticed Adam was now staring at the dessert.
“You want some as well?”
“Yes, please, Mrs Duke.” Adam plopped himself down at the table next to Clay.
She looked at Danny. “You?”
Danny shrugged. “May as well. I’ll come with you.”
“Me too,” said Clay.
“No, you stay there and finish your cake,” replied Pamela.
“Finished.”
Pamela turned and looked at the empty bowl. She shook her head in wonder. “You fancy some more?” She was rewarded with a slightly self-conscious grin.
“If it’s no trouble.”
“Wait here.”
Danny and Pamela walked off in the direction of the kitchen. Adam turned his uneven gaze back on Clay. “You looking at my wonky eye?”
Clay shifted in his seat. “No, I—”
“It’s okay. Everybody does. They don’t know which eye to look at. Kind of freaks the girls out.”
“Hey, it’s not that bad.”
Adam shrugged. “When I was a kid they made me wear a patch over my good eye. The doctors said the other eye would correct itself. I went around nearly blind for a year and a half. All the kids at school used to rip the crap out of me. I’ve heard every pirate joke there is, every cock-eye joke as well.”
Clay gave a fleeting thought to his own formative years. “Yeah, kids can be a bunch of shits, can’t they?”
“It’s called amblyopia. My eye will never be right. The surgery costs way too much. But that’s okay; it doesn’t bother me much anymore. At least I’m okay to drive. My depth perception is fine.”
“We’ve got another job for you if you’re up for it?” Clay knew it was better to keep the kid occupied.
“Ready and willing. What is it?”
“Would you be able to find out if Barcelo owns any boats?”
“I guess so. I’ll have to figure out how to do that. I’m sure Google will have the answer.” Adam paused. “Why do you want to know that?”
“Just something that Danny and I have been thinkin’ on. If he does, it’s another way we can get to him. Hit him where it hurts. Can you handle it?”
“Of course I can. I got your cars and hacked the villa didn’t I?”
Clay nodded. The kid was resourceful but he needed to make sure he didn’t get caught up in the crossfire. “We need to know if he owns any and where they’re berthed. As much detail as possible.”
Danny and Pamela arrived back to the table with more dessert. Pamela joined them as they began to eat. Clay leaned over and whispered a few words to Adam.
“Oh yeah. Thanks, Daisy,” said Adam.
Pamela thumped Clay on the shoulder. “I’ve told you about that before. That shit sticks.”
Adam’s gaze flicked to Clay. “You said she liked it.”
Clay winked back at him. “Ah, young man, it’s all in the delivery.”
“If anybody else calls me Daisy friggin’ Duke, I’ll deliver my right foot up their arse.”
“Classy,” laughed Danny.
“Who said that? Emmeline Pankhurst?” Clay questioned.
Adam looked confused. “Who’s Emmeline Pankhurst?” he asked. “Was she in the Pussycat Dolls?”
44
Barcelo shifted in the car seat and hit the passenger window with his fist. He felt like killing someone. He had worked way too hard building up his patch to let it all slip away. Rogue Angels, British upstarts and now there were reports that the Colombians were working their way down the coast. It would only be a matter of time before they too arrived in Ultima. That would mean more police on the streets, more problems. He would deal with the Colombians if and when they arrived but first he had to set things straight with the Bosnians. He could not let the fragile business arrangement he had with them be jeopardised. The girls were relatively low risk but brought very good returns. As part of the arrangement he got to keep one out of every twenty girls for free. It was a sweet deal. But the girls had a limited shelf life. They could only bring in top dollar for a year or two before they were used up. Then they tended to get passed down to le
ss particular groups to be pimped out for scrat-money. There was always a need for more girls. It was a lucrative business that needed protecting.
The leader of the Bosnians went by the name of Golok. Barcelo knew he was not a man to be trifled with. While he would never admit to being scared of the man, Barcelo knew that any perceived slight to the Bosnian code of honour would not be forgiven or forgotten easily. The Bosnians operated with a ruthlessness that left no room for doubt. They were dangerous men and now a potential crack in the operation had been opened on Barcelo’s watch. The girls that they had lost during the evacuation at the club would cost him. Most of the girls came from Bulgaria, Bosnia and more recently the Czech Republic. In truth, it didn’t matter to him where they came from as long as they were young. The younger they were the more profit to be made on them.
The payment was always made in used notes of middle values, nothing higher than a fifty. Barcelo clutched the small sports bag tight in his lap. The cash had come from his personal safe, money he bitterly resented handing away. Normally the revenue generated by the previous shipment was enough to pay for the next.
As annoying as he was, Garcia was right: the Brits had played them for fools. But they would pay the ultimate price. No more warning shots; no more trying to take them alive. They were for the sharks. With a bit of luck, he would be the one to personally end it for them. He had snapped the biker’s neck and he would do the same for any other challengers that put his livelihood at risk.
Barcelo raised a hand to his face, which still throbbed in pain from the fight. That guy had kicked like a mule.
“You okay?” Garcia regarded his boss with a look of mild amusement from the driver’s seat.
Barcelo grunted a monosyllable in way of reply.
“My face hurts too. It’s part of the job. I’ll get my payback. Maybe you’re getting soft. Maybe you’ve been behind that big desk of yours for too long.”
“Fuck off, Babi!” warned Barcelo. “I’m in no mood for your shit today.”
“We could stop off at my place for some pills if you want,” offered Garcia as he dropped his hand back to the steering wheel. “A couple of purples and a blue would go down nicely. Take the edge off.”
“We’ve no time for that. The Bosnians do not like to be kept waiting.”
“Are the Bosnians as tough as their reputation? I’ve never had the pleasure.”
Barcelo looked at Garcia from the corner of his eye. The sly smile that Garcia wore perturbed him.
“Certainly not men who make idle threats. Not men to go against unless you have a death wish.”
“Tougher than your Locos?” asked Garcia.
Barcelo glared at Garcia and bunched his fists. “Just drive the fucking car, Babi, and stop needling me.”
“So where exactly is this place we’re going to?”
“You know the waterpark they started to build a couple of years ago? Ultimagua, they called it. The developers ran out of money so it never opened. But it’s a great place to meet away from prying eyes. I’ve met the Bosnians there a couple times in the past.”
“Ultimagua. Huh.” Garcia pronounced the word with undisguised disdain. “No prying eyes?”
Barcelo gave him another sideways glance. “No. The security there is one old man who checks the place once a week on a Tuesday morning.”
“The old guy is a friend of yours?”
Barcelo gave the smallest twitch of a smile. “Do you need to ask?”
45
Adam left the Woo Hoo Club with an almost euphoric sense of achievement. Both Danny and Clay had praised him on a job well done on managing to hack the villa network. They had then checked out the two cars he had bought for them. These too had been on the money. Clay had taken to calling him “quartermaster”. He was the Q of the group, just like in the Bond movies. But unlike Q, who always got left behind when real action was needed, Adam was determined to show them he could do much more than just press buttons on a keyboard. After promising Danny that he would find out if Barcelo owned any boats, he mentally parked that errand for later. He had a much better idea.
Sally had arrived at the club for an early drink and Adam’s plans had nearly faltered before they had begun. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
Pointing a finger to some far-off point, he stammered, “New Blu-ray box set. Er, just nipping out.”
“Okay, babes, see you later. When you come back I’ll buy you dinner.”
Despite feeling a little crappy for spinning Aunt Sally a lie, he had hopped back in his car, a newer model Toyota, and sped back towards Barcelo’s villa. He was sure he would turn up some real information that they could use to knock Barcelo off his perch.
The cool evening air whistled through the open windows, tugging at his hair and collar as he pressed down on the accelerator. As he drew closer to the villa he eased back on the speed and allowed the car to creep along using the momentum he had built up. He flicked the headlights off. Gravel crunched under the tyres as he steered the vehicle from the road onto the hillside that overlooked the villa, far enough so he couldn’t be seen from the house or the gates.
A nervous laugh escaped his throat as he pulled the lever under his seat and scooted back so he had more legroom. The iPad came out next. His fingers worked like an arachnid’s legs and in seconds he had the snooper program loaded. He tapped on the first of the icons. The picture on the screen jumbled into a thousand indistinct pixels for a couple of seconds then cleared to show a view that looked from the villa towards the main gates. The CCTV system had been easy to hack, just nerve-wracking during the few tense seconds it had taken to bite into the camera relay cable. Adam counted his teeth with the tip of his tongue as he watched the man in the gatehouse light up a cigarette. He closed that view and tapped the next icon. This resulted in a view of the pool deck. A large overturned tanker truck filled most of the screen. Adam laughed as he moved to the next icon. Another camera view showed the side of the house where he had made his deliveries.
As he tapped the next icon a stream of code appeared within a separate window. He scanned the code with a practised eye and entered a series of base instructions. A blinking cursor at the bottom of the screen awaited his command. With a self-satisfied sigh he hit the enter key. The code again streamed down his screen too fast for the eye to follow. Then the screen of his iPad changed to mirror that of the PC he had just hacked into.
Adam was midway through punching the air in celebration when the car door was wrenched open. Hands much stronger than his own fastened themselves around his neck and yanked him out of the vehicle. The iPad clattered between his feet, sliding between the pedals.
Adam twisted on the ground and tried to push the hands away from his throat to no avail. Then a second man twisted his arm into a lock, wrenching his wrist until he felt something give way with a searing snap. He yelled out first in surprise then in agony. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse the man holding his wrist twisted it even further. Purple spots of light danced across his vision as a boot slammed into his face. Once, twice, then a third time. Adam was barely conscious, the toes of his shoes tracing twin tracks in the dust as the two men dragged him down the hill towards the villa.
“You must think we’re really stupid to fall for the same trick again. We’ve been waiting for you bastards to show up again. Boss said you might try another potshot from up here.”
“I told the boss I didn’t think anyone would be so dumb.” The second man grated the bones of Adam’s broken wrist together. “But here you are.”
Tears ran down Adam’s face as he was dragged through the gates. He felt a tidal wave of dread wash over him. His breath came in short terrified gulps. He knew that the Locos had killed people in the past. He’d read the news, heard the stories: bodies washing up on the beach; people disappearing, never to be seen again. He tried lurching to one side in an effort to break the grip of his captors. He vomited as his wrist was wrenched again. The two men dropped him face
down on the villa driveway as they avoided the contents of his stomach. Then the man to his right snatched up his broken wrist again and stamped down onto the small of his back.
Adam tried screaming for help. His voice was no more than a strangled wheeze. He tried again.
One of the men from the gatehouse ran forward and kicked him in the ribs. “Motherfucker!”
Adam cried, deep wracking sobs, as the men dragged him ever closer to the villa. He had made a terrible mistake coming here on his own.
The tiles on the kitchen floor felt like ice against his rapidly swelling face. He had never been hit before. He never imagined the pain could feel this bad. Curled into the foetal position, he sucked in ragged gasps of air. Rough hands searched him for any concealed weapons. He had none. One of the men tugged his wallet from his pocket and flipped it open. His cell phone was snatched from another pocket.
“Adam Bradshaw.” The man read the details from the driver’s licence. He pressed the heel of his boot onto Adam’s knee. “Hello, Adam.” He turned to the other man. “Get Ortega. He’ll want to meet our new friend.”
* * *
Vincenzo Ortega looked down at the young man curled on the floor. His face had already begun to swell, a puffy purple welt around his left eye and cheek. Blood trickled from his nose. “Who is he?”
The guard handed him a wallet. Ortega glanced down at the contents. Then he squatted at Adam’s side, lifting his chin with two stiffened fingers. Speaking in Spanish he asked, “I know you don’t I? You’re the delivery man. Who sent you here? That big fucking American?”
Adam reached out a placatory hand towards Ortega. “Please. I’m just the parcel delivery guy.”
Ortega exchanged another look with the guards. They shook their heads in unison. Ortega slapped Adam’s hand away. “You were spying on the house.”
“No.” Adam’s voice jumped an octave.
“Yes.” Ortega raised his own chin in a sharp gesture. The guards hauled Adam to his feet. The larger of the two then slipped his arms under Adam’s, effectively pinning them behind his back. “Who knows you’re here?”
