Vasiliev’s eyebrows lifted an inch.
‘Where they keep real estate records?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘You have property you can sell?’
‘I told you, the bank took my house.’
‘No other property?’
McIntyre wanted to scream at him, do you think I’d have let you nail my hand to a picnic table if I had a ski condo in Jackson Hole I could sell?
‘No.’
‘Then why were you there? What other records are kept in there?’
A thousand thoughts went spinning through McIntyre’s mind. He tried to think through the implications of telling Vasiliev about Hanna’s search for an heir. The downside was Vasiliev would know his only hope of getting his hands on some money was about to disappear, now that Buckley had two names he was pursuing. The upside was Vasiliev would agree Buckley should not be allowed to succeed—and would assist him in bringing about that happy outcome.
He’d spent too long thinking about it.
For a man like Vasiliev, an answer that was not instantaneous or obtained under duress was an answer that had been edited. He buzzed down the window and twisted his head, looked up at the sky.
‘Maybe not such a bad day for a picnic, after all.’
The men outside looked around as the window went down, identical looks of hopeful expectation on their faces. McIntyre was immediately back at the lakeside, his face and chest pushed into the rough wood of the picnic table as one of the men positioned a six-inch nail over the back of his hand and lifted a sixteen-ounce hammer above his head.
He was on the verge of telling Vasiliev about the BDM section, about what Buckley was up to. He had no qualms about setting these animals onto Buckley, he deserved everything he got. But it was his last card. If he told them now, he had nothing left for the future. There was something else nagging at the back of his mind. If he told Vasiliev about Hanna’s business empire, they might want to take control of it through him, forget just getting their money back.
He would be their puppet for the rest of his life.
Vasiliev turned towards the open window.
‘Anton, get everyone in, we’re going back to the lake.’
‘No!’
Vasiliev held up his hand and his men stopped dead, the one called Anton let go of the door handle and stepped back. Vasiliev raised an eyebrow at McIntyre. His expression said he already didn’t believe what McIntyre was about to say.
‘I told you, the bank took my house. I had to fill out a new voter registration form with my new address.’
‘A new voter registration form.’
He made it sound like McIntyre had said a new life form, not just a registration form.
McIntyre nodded.
‘You owe me a quarter-million-dollars and you spend your time filling out a voter registration form? Instead of finding a way to get my money?’
‘I take time out to eat as well, you know.’
It was out before he could stop it. Vasiliev’s eyes bulged.
‘I warned you about insolence.’
‘Sorry, sorry.’
It was too late.
Vasiliev grabbed hold of McIntyre’s left wrist with both hands and banged the injured hand against the door until the blood seeped through the bandage. McIntyre gasped, couldn’t stop it escaping from between his gritted teeth.
‘If I find out you’ve been lying about what you were doing in there, find out you have more property, I will nail you to the wall by your hands and feet. Now get out of my car before you piss all over the seats.’
Chapter 20
AS PROMISED, GUILLORY CALLED Evan as soon as she got home to give him the name of the person who had filed a complaint against Jesús Narvaez.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. It’s not a very difficult name to remember. I said it was short. Fox. You need me to spell that for you?’
He tried to ignore the buzz in his stomach and stared at the two birth certificates on his desk.
‘First name?’
He mouthed the name as Guillory spoke it aloud.
‘Anthony. His wife’s name is Helen.’
Evan picked up the birth certificate for Francisco Javier Fox, parents’ names Anthony and Helen, and kissed it. He’d found Margarita’s baby, thanks in part to Jesús Narvaez. Anthony and Helen Fox had filed a complaint against him for stalking. There could only be one reason he was anywhere near them, would even have been aware of their existence—they’d adopted his sister’s baby. How he found that out was another matter, and it sure as hell didn’t matter now.
‘Is it any help?’
‘More than you could ever imagine.’
He felt her smile coming down the line.
‘I hope Hanna’s paying you a big fat fee. You’re gonna need it. Yum yum.’
She was about to end the call when he stopped her.
‘Just, uh, one more thing—’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Have you got an address for them?’
‘What? A fifty-year-old address? You can have it if you want it. It’s—’
‘No, I’ve got ...I meant a current address for them.’
He’d been about to say he’d got the fifty-year-old address from the birth certificate. He just managed to catch himself. He wasn’t used to holding information back from her. Especially when he was asking a favor in the next breath. He heard her tapping away at the keyboard, classic two-finger style.
‘Right, I’ve just emailed you the last address we’ve got.’
‘Can’t you just tell me.’
‘No, I’m going out, I’m late already. I can’t wait for you to write it all down.’
‘Where are you—’
She’d already cut the call.
The email came through and he looked the address up, saw it wasn’t too far from where Narvaez lived. Even though it was only six-thirty, it was too late to go over there and see them. They would both be in their seventies, they might be in bed already. And he didn’t want to call, wanted to speak to them face to face. It would have to wait until the morning. Besides, he had to be at his sister’s in half an hour.
He knocked on the door with five minutes to spare. His nephew Kyle opened it.
‘Can we go for a drive in your car?’
Max the collie came bounding up again and almost knocked Kyle over, barking at the car that had pulled up to the curb.
‘Can Max come too?’
‘You’re late,’ Charlotte called from the kitchen.
Whatever happened to saying hello?
Evan thought about turning around and making a run for the car where Charlotte’s friend Louise sat, leaning into the horn, waving at him. He’d always liked Louise. Charlotte came tottering down the hallway on her high heels and pecked him on the cheek.
‘Kids have had their dinner, you need to do the washing up. Don’t let them stay up too late like last time and don’t scare them with any of your stupid stories so they can’t get to sleep. Don’t give Kyle beer either, he’s only ten. And don’t let Max sit on the couch.’
He leaned back, feeling like he’d opened the door to the oven with his head too close.
‘What about me? Can I sit on it?’
‘When you’ve done the washing up. One other thing, Mitch might pop in to pick up some stuff.’
‘You’re joking—’
‘There was nothing I could do about it. I can’t stop him coming to his own house.’
‘You could’ve changed your plans.’
She was already halfway down the path.
‘You’re going to have to make up with him one day.’
‘Did you tell him I’m here?’
He didn’t get an answer, just a quick wave and then she was gone.
Back inside, he found a beer in the fridge and got settled in front of the TV, Kyle on one side of him on the couch, Max curled up on the other. He couldn’t relax, worried Mitch might walk in any mi
nute. He was never going to have a peaceful evening, but he didn’t need the added aggravation of an argument with Mitch. It wouldn’t be good for Kyle to see his father and uncle come to blows in front of the TV.
Kyle wouldn’t settle either.
‘Why can’t we go for a drive in your car?’ he said for the third time in under five minutes.
‘Who’ll look after your sister?’
‘She’s upstairs, she won’t know.’
‘How about we take her with us?’
Kyle looked at him like he’d suggested they put Max in a pie and have him for supper.
‘Can’t we just sit in it?’
‘Go on then.’
‘You come too. The garage is creepy.’
Evan got up and Kyle dragged him through the kitchen into the garage, where the Corvette’s paintwork gleamed in the light spilling out of the kitchen. Kyle opened the driver’s door and got in. Evan got in the passenger side.
‘Can we start it?’
‘It’ll fill the garage with exhaust fumes.’
‘Open the door.’
The kid had an answer for everything. He got it from his mother. Evan got out and unlocked the side door, pushed it wide open, then got back in and fired up the engine. The big V8 burst into life and Kyle slid down in the seat and stomped the gas, yelling with delight. Evan let him rev it a while longer, the whole garage shaking, rapidly filling with fumes.
Outside the driver’s window Max jumped up, barking excitedly. Evan felt like joining in, shouting and screaming with the rest of them, it couldn’t make any more noise.
‘Okay, that’s enough now. You don’t want to gas Max, do you?’
Kyle’s face dropped. He turned the key reluctantly and got out. Evan swung the side door back and forth to clear some of the fumes, then closed it. He didn’t bother locking it. He’d give it ten minutes maximum before Kyle had worn him down again. He just hoped Mitch didn’t come home in the middle of it.
They all settled back on the couch again, Max in the middle this time, his muzzle in Evan’s lap. Kyle lasted under five minutes.
‘Can I get a soda?’
Evan nodded and Kyle wandered out into the kitchen. Evan lowered the volume on the TV remote and strained his ears, pretty sure he heard the door to the garage open. Seemed it wasn’t so creepy after all, when it was full of ‘60s muscle car. He sniffed. The faint odor of exhaust fumes confirmed it. The key was safely in his pocket so he didn’t have to worry about Kyle accidentally putting it into gear and ramming the doors. Then he heard the solid clunk of a heavy car door being carefully closed.
He smiled to himself. At least he’d get a few minutes peace and quiet. He rubbed Max’s ears and took a swallow of his now-warm beer. It had been the only one in the fridge too, there was no point going hunting for another one.
He was suddenly aware of the smell of fumes, much stronger now. There was a distinct chill around his lower legs as if he was sitting in a draft. It was coming from the kitchen. Max raised his head from Evan’s lap, his ears pricked forward, alert now. Evan felt his body tense, a low growl in his throat. He killed the sound on the TV and listened. All he heard was the dog’s growl.
He got up from the couch, pointed at Max, whispered stay.
‘You find that soda, Kyle?’
He went into the kitchen. Kyle wasn’t there. The smell of exhaust fumes and the feel of colder air was more pronounced in the kitchen. The door to the garage was open, the garage beyond in darkness. Through the door he could make out the Corvette, see the driver’s window. He couldn’t see Kyle in the car, the light from the kitchen was reflecting off the glass. He might have slid down in the seat pumping the gas pedal like before.
He stood in the open doorway, let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The side door was open again, that’s where the draft was coming from. Maybe Kyle went outside, left it open like kids do.
He took a step into the garage and froze at the low guttural sound of a dog’s growl. It was coming from in front of him, from a patch of deeper darkness beyond the car’s hood, off to the side of the door.
Then, one word, a low whisper, barely audible to the human ear.
Go
In the space of one vengeful second, there was an explosion of movement, a blur of black and brown, flying across the Corvette’s hood, lips curled back, teeth bared, the low growl intensifying. Then another blur of movement, black and white this time as Max launched himself at the bigger dog, colliding mid-air, his jaws clamping around the other dog’s lower jaw. Both dogs landed on the floor at Evan’s feet, a maelstrom of legs and teeth and bloody saliva, thrashing and whirling on the ground in a mass of such utter confusion Evan couldn’t get a kick in for fear of hitting Max.
The bigger dog threw its head from side to side like a terrier worrying a giant rat. Max’s lighter body jerked through the air, losing his grip on the other dog’s jaw, flying through the air, slamming into the wall.
With the dogs apart Evan kicked wildly at the Doberman—he saw what it was now—missed it and slipped. He went down hard, the shock knocking the wind out of him, as the Doberman leapt at his throat. He rolled onto his front, tucking in his head as if it was a bear attack. The dog’s front paws hit him on the shoulder, its jaws snapping at his head.
Marlene.
A single word hissed from the other side of the garage, a man dressed all in black, silhouetted in the open doorway, moving fast. The dog froze momentarily, then bounded up and away, leapt clear over the Corvette’s hood and disappeared through the door, into the night after its owner.
Evan rolled onto his back, heaved in huge gulps of air. Max’s face appeared above him, looking down at him, strings of bloody drool dripping onto his face, running into his hair. The lights suddenly went on, the fluorescent strips blinding him.
‘Uncle Evan, what are you doing down there?’ Kyle said from the kitchen doorway. ‘You want a soda?’
Chapter 21
‘WHAT THE F—’
‘Don’t swear Dad,’ Kyle sang out, trying hard to mimic the tone of voice his mom used when she caught Mitch swearing.
Evan opened his eyes, saw Mitch standing in the side doorway, hands bunched into fists on his hips.
‘Upstairs, Kyle.’
‘But, Dad—’
‘Upstairs. Now!’
Mitch waited for him to get out of earshot. Evan took the opportunity to stand up, dusted himself down.
‘You want to tell me what the hell’s going on, Evan. I come home and see a guy run out of my garage with a hellhound chasing after him and then find you on the floor, looking like ...’
He shook his head, words failing him.
‘Shit?’ Evan suggested.
‘Shit, yeah.’
Max trotted around to Mitch, seemingly no worse off for the dog fight. Mitch bent and ruffled his ears, stroked his muzzle, came away with a hand covered in blood. He stared at it like he didn’t know what it was.
Evan wiped at his face, his hand coming away the same.
‘That’s what I’ve got on my face.’
Mitch wasn’t the least bit interested in Evan’s face. He hunkered down, lifted Max’s muzzle and inspected his mouth.
‘Good boy.’
He stood up again, satisfied the dog wasn’t badly hurt. He stared at the Corvette.
‘And what the hell is this?’
Stupid question, Evan thought, but not the time to point it out. It was going to take a lot of careful attention to what was said if they wanted to avoid things escalating.
‘Charlotte’s storing it for me.’
‘Move in, why don’t you.’ He sniffed. ‘Why’ve you been running it in here with the doors shut?’
‘Kyle wanted to sit in it.’
A lightning fast smile crossed Mitch’s face before he suppressed it. He seemed satisfied with that explanation at least, knew how persistent his son was.
‘You still haven’t told me what’s going on.’
He came around the
car and headed towards the kitchen. Evan was directly in line with it. Mitch stopped short. It was as if he suddenly remembered what was really going on here, the reason there was an empty space in the garage in the first place. His face hardened.
‘Couple of months ago, I’d have punched your head through that wall.’
Evan should have bitten his tongue, kept his mouth shut. Let the guy think he was the big man in his own house.
‘You’d have tried.’
They stared at each other, two big men, breathing heavily, hearts thumping, neither man wanting to do this, both prepared to. Mitch flicked his eyes downwards. Evan nearly laughed.
Okay, I’ll look down too, so you can throw a punch at my head.
Mitch threw the punch anyway, a wild, adrenalin-loaded haymaker, months of pent-up frustration seeking release. Evan stepped outside it, Mitch’s flank exposed as he followed through.
Evan poked him in the kidney with his finger.
‘Could’ve had you pissing blood for a week.’
Cocky, far too cocky.
Mitch was faster than Evan gave him credit for. He whipped his elbow backwards. Evan got his arm up in time, blocked it. It still hurt like hell. He yelped in surprise. Max bounded across the garage, barking excitedly. A new game, more fun than chasing a soggy tennis ball. He jumped up, snapping at Evan’s hand as he grabbed hold of Mitch’s elbow with both hands and spun him around again, threw him across the hood of the Corvette. It sounded like a bag of cement just landed on it. Evan groaned as he heard the scrape of belt buckle on shiny paintwork.
Max jumped away from Evan, over to Mitch, claws scrabbling on Evan’s paintwork as he tried to get to Mitch’s face to lick him.
Mitch lay across the hood breathing heavily. He was big and strong, a year or two younger than Evan, but he was out of shape. Evan reckoned he was realizing it, considering his mortality. He pushed himself up and turned towards Evan. Max was on his back legs, his front paws on Mitch’s stomach now, waiting for the next move.
‘I don’t blame you for trying,’ Evan said. ‘Lucky for me you’re in such bad shape.’
Mitch shook his head, ran his hand through his hair, leaving a smear of Max’s blood across his forehead. He looked down at his dog’s excited face, saw wisdom somewhere behind the bright eyes that had been eluding him.
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