‘Good. C’mon in.’ There was a buzz and the gates began to trundle slowly back on their tracks. From somewhere nearby came the hum of an electric motor.
I drove slowly up the curving drive, admiring the lawns the way I was supposed to and wondering where the owner had buried the bodies Clayton had mentioned. After two minutes the drive opened out into a turning circle, and I stopped in front of an impressive plantation-style house with rows of windows and a clapboard front. Twin pillars stood guard either side of marble steps leading to a gleaming black door mounted with a huge scroll-shaped knocker made of brass. Or was it burnished gold? Whatever – it was bigger than any postman back in London would have cared to lift.
As I stepped out of the car a man appeared at the side of the house and waved a tired hand. He was carrying a pair of shears and wore canvas gardening gloves. Under the weathered baseball cap clamped on his head he was burned a deep tan and looked about ninety, but by the way he moved I guessed he was in his sixties.
‘Hey-up, young fella,’ he greeted me, and beckoned me to follow him round the back. ‘Gus said you was comin’ and to see you wuz settled ’til he gets back.’ His voice was as reedy in the flesh as it had been over the entry-phone. ‘He’s out seein’ some people ’n said for you to wait. I’m Frank, by the way.’
I told him that was fine, and on the way round the side of the house asked him about the mailbox with a hole in it.
‘That’s from a point-two-two long rifle,’ he replied shortly. ‘A squirrel gun. Some dumb kids have been goin’ round drillin’ mailboxes. Less brains than a squirrel, most of ’em.’ He gave me a knowing look. ‘I guess that don’t happen much where you come from, huh?’
‘Not so much,’ I told him.
The windows of the house were all blanked off by curtains pulled across to cut out the light. It gave the effect of a house deserted by the occupants, although plainly that wasn’t the case. Obviously Mr Mekashnik liked his privacy – although who was going to spy on him out in this wilderness was beyond me.
We arrived on a vast patio bordering a fifty-foot swimming-pool, overlooked by a double set of French windows and, above them, a balcony with an identical set of doors, all with drawn curtains. I was reminded of the house and pool in High Society – the one where Grace Kelly fenced around with Frank Sinatra before opting for Bing Crosby. If all this opulence was a guide, Gus Mekashnik’s business was doing very well.
Upholstered loungers were scattered around the patio, while in the pool itself an inflatable version with sunflower motifs drifted lazily in the faint movement of air across the surface. Off to one side was a barbecue bay big enough to roast a small elephant.
In the background, beyond a ghastly faux-summerhouse, more lawns and the odd flower border, the garden extended into a thick belt of trees which rose up a slope for about half a mile before meeting the sky. I couldn’t see any signs of a fence, so guessed Mekashnik owned all of it.
‘There’s drink ’n stuff on the table,’ said Frank, pointing with the shears towards a patio table standing in the shade of the house. ‘You fancy a swim, go right ahead – there’s towels there, too. Won’t cost you nuthin’.’ He laughed at some private joke, his face creasing up like old, soft leather. ‘I gotta go fetch the boss, so you’ll have to pour drinks yourself. Don’t go in the house, though, y’hear?’
This last sounded like he meant it, so I nodded. He pottered away, swinging the shears and humming. Moments later I heard a car start up and speed away down the drive, and I was left with the sound of the pool pump clicking away and the trickle of a small fountain at the far end of the patio.
I dropped my travel bag by the table and poured myself some orange juice, allowing a few ice cubes to drop in as well. Then I slugged it back, feeling the coldness begin to seep outwards as it went down. It felt so good I topped it up and went for a stroll round the pool.
Out in the open the sun was fierce and heavy, and I squinted against the glare off the water’s surface. It seemed a waste just to stand there looking at it, but I realised I hadn’t brought a swimming costume. Somehow, being invited to take a dip in a client’s pool hadn’t been on the itinerary.
I took another stroll round the property and listened carefully, but if there was anybody about they were keeping a low profile. To hell with it, it was too hot and too good a chance to miss. Anyway, a quick dip was all I needed.
I was stripped off and in the water inside ten seconds, leaving a pile of clothes on the patio and a ripple where I plunged through the still, blue surface. It was cool, but embracing and so pleasant I wanted to gurgle with delight. Anyone who has been skinny-dipping as an adult will know the difference of not being encumbered by a swimming costume; it’s a whole new experience which has more than just a little to do with losing one’s inhibitions and kicking off all traces of convention. And maybe I just got a secret kick out of being bare-arse naked in someone else’s pool. For some reason it made me think about Jane… which also made me think about Basher.
Bad idea.
I kicked my way down to the far end under water, lazily counting tiles on the bottom, and surfaced with a gasp into bright sunlight and the heat of the great American outdoors. It had been a while since I’d done any swimming, so I did two lazy lengths of the pool, letting my muscles find their way into the rhythm of a crawl while I struggled with adjusting my breathing to coincide with having my face out of the water rather than in it. At least, that was the idea, but since nobody was watching I didn’t bother too much about ingesting the occasional mouthful and having to stop to cough it up again.
After that I swam over to the lounger and pulled myself aboard, gasping like a fish and settling back to soak up some rays while I drifted across the pool. It felt good to have my belly open to the skies, even if I was exposed to anyone flying overhead. But frankly, my dear, I didn’t give a hoot.
A few minutes later the lounger spun gently in the water and the position of the sun told me I was turning to face the house. I opened my eyes and squinted against the glare, a sudden surge of natural caution making me check I didn’t have an audience of several dozen old ladies from the local church harmony-singing circle.
I didn’t see an audience, but I did notice my clothes had disappeared.
TWENTY-FOUR
Trying to get some emergency traction on a floating sunbed is not easy. I had a moment of wild panic, feeling the air-chambers move beneath me, providing a platform like wet lasagne. I was desperately trying to get a glimpse of my travel bag which I’d dropped by the table when I poured myself some juice. Inside was the envelope from Clayton, my sole reason for being there and without which I might as well have consigned myself to a lifelong exile somewhere so remote even God couldn’t find me.
I finally managed to flop to the side of the pool and haul myself onto solid ground, spitting a lungful of chlorinated water across the patio. When I rubbed the water from my eyes, I looked up and saw my travel bag was where I’d left it by the table. Thank God.
‘For a moment, there, I thought I was going to have to come right in and rescue you.’
The voice was low and languid and tinged with amusement, and came from the shadows near the refreshment table. I squinted, my eyes still blind after the glare of the sun off the pool, but all I could see was a long, bare leg swinging to and fro, with a stylish sandal hanging from five elegantly painted toes.
Then the owner of the voice stood up and stepped out from the shadow towards me, shaking my shirt gently in one hand as if to dislodge any dust that might have landed on it. A faint jangling sound came from a clutch of bracelets on her wrist.
It was only when I saw the amusement wasn’t confined to her voice, and that her eyes were looking down at a point below my navel, that I remembered I was naked.
Caught between the urge to flip backwards into the pool and to suck my stomach in and try to look good, I was saved the decision when she handed me my shirt and turned away.
‘I picked up your th
ings to save them getting creased in the sun,’ she said by way of explanation, and went back to the table and poured two glasses of orange juice. Her voice was a slow drawl, the vowels stretched and drawn out as if the effort to release them for public hearing was almost too much bother. The effect was not a million miles away from Lauren Bacall. To my London-tutored ear it sounded alien and affected… and, either in spite of or because of the circumstances, unbelievably sensual. But that may have been because I was naked and my imagination was instinctively getting ahead of itself. ‘Down here everything wilts in the humidity, y’know?’ She glanced back with a raised eyebrow as I covered my embarrassment with my shirt. ‘And I mean everything.’
I sighed and wondered how long she’d been watching me. Humidity, my eye. Hadn’t she noticed that thing about men and cool water before?
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, retrieving my trousers and the rest of my things and grabbing a large, fluffy towel. ‘The gardener – Frank? He said it was okay to take a dip. But I didn’t have a costume.’
‘Costume?’ She handed me a glass of juice. ‘Oh, you mean swim shorts. Say, are you from New York or Canada or what?’
‘England, actually,’ I said, and remembered that many Americans wouldn’t recognise a British accent and often confused it with one from north of the border. ‘England, UK,’ I added helpfully.
‘Oh, I know where England is,’ the woman said, and sat back down by the table. ‘I may live in the boonies, but I have travelled, y’know.’
While she obligingly turned her gaze away, I towelled myself dry and got dressed. It gave me a chance to study her profile. She was tall and slim, with auburn-tinted, glossy hair cut to her shoulders, and clear, dark eyes that still had an air of amusement. Her mouth was wide and curled at the edges, and one eyebrow was slightly cocked as though she found the world permanently puzzling. She was wearing a thin cotton sundress with brown polka dots on a cream background which set off her evenly-tanned skin to perfection. She wore no jewellery apart from the bracelets on her wrist. I put her age at somewhere in the late thirties.
‘I’m Jake Foreman, by the way.’ I may have been presentable at last, but it didn’t stop me feeling ridiculous for having to introduce myself in such circumstances. After all, in one sense she was now better acquainted with me than people I’d known for years.
‘Well, hello, Jake.’ She nodded formally and sipped her drink, then looked at me. ‘And I’m Lilly-Mae Breadon. Gus said someone would be dropping by, but he didn’t say who.’ She glanced at my bag on the floor by the table. ‘You’ve got a little something for him, right?’
‘That’s right. Is he going to be long?’
She waved a hand. ‘Well, you ask me, the only person knows that for sure is Gus. He takes just as long as he likes about most everything.’ The tone sounded mildly vexed, as if she was talking about a child beyond her control, but who was okay, all said and done. She used a fingertip to wipe a trace of orange juice off her top lip. ‘It all depends on what it is you’ve got for him, I guess… and how bad he wants it.’ She looked at me with those wide open eyes and the trace of a smile which made the hairs rise on the back of my neck. It was like being zapped by a laser, and I felt my breathing drag to a stop. Somewhere in the trees something screeched, a high-pitched sound which made me jump. Lilly-Mae seemed unaffected by it.
‘So, are you gonna tell me what it is, Jake?’
The question threw me – almost as much as the use of my name. I was surprised she was interested, and for a moment wondered if this was another test. I also wondered what her relationship with Mekashnik might be.
‘I can’t,’ I said truthfully. ‘Boring papers, as far as I know. Are you related to Mr Mekashnik?’
Lilly-Mae gave me a sideways look and ignored my question. ‘Oh, I doubt they’re boring, Jake. I doubt that very much. Still.’ She stood up, the matter closed. It brought her nearer to me, and I could see she was nearly my own height, and carried with her a delicate perfume with traces of lemons. She eyed me directly and nodded towards my glass.
‘Bring that with you, Jake. How ’bout we go for a walk? I’m sure Gus will be along soon. On the way you can tell me all about yourself.’ She walked away and skirted the end of the pool, her long stride taking her out across the grass towards the trees. I stopped to pick up my travel bag with the all-important envelope and hurried after her. As I caught up, I couldn’t help but admire the movement of muscle down the back of her thighs under the sundress, or the fact that the dress had no back above the waist and showed a bare expanse of smooth, well-toned and tanned skin.
‘To save you asking,’ she said conversationally, ‘I’m, shall we say, a visiting friend.’ She turned her head to fix me with her eyes, and I realised that she had dropped the country-girl drawl. ‘No more, no less. Gus likes to think of me as a trophy as far as his brain-dead, gun-carrying buddies are concerned, but since they don’t matter anyhow, who cares? How about you, Jake? Have you really come all this way to deliver papers?’
Brain-dead gun-carrying buddies? That didn’t sound much like a leading arms dealer. I’d been expecting a smart, modern office full of suited employees armed with nothing more lethal than the latest iPad, with maybe a warehouse nearby full of things that only went bang in someone else’s war far, far away. Before I could reply, a car engine sounded from round the side of the house, followed by doors slamming and footsteps echoing across the patio. Lilly-Mae stopped and turned, rolling her eyes in what looked like vexation, and muttered, ‘Shoot. Just as we were getting acquainted.’ Her face took on a welcoming smile and she waved a hand in greeting. ‘Hi, Gus, darlin’. Guess who I’ve got here?’ The drawl, I noticed, was back in place.
‘I know very well who you’ve got there, Lil,’ a deep voice replied sourly. ‘Just where’n hell were you planning on taking him is what I want to know.’
The muscles in my back flinched at the man’s aggressive tone and I turned round to see a big bear of a figure standing by the pool, dressed in work jeans and a check shirt, with two other men behind him, both dressed similarly and with lookalike faces. Their bunch-shouldered stance gave them the look of a wrestling tag team, but in comparison to the first man, they looked fairly harmless.
In his hand was a rifle with a telescopic sight, pointing right at me.
TWENTY-FIVE
Gus Mekashnik had the aura of a bad-tempered construction foreman, a breed I’d come across frequently in my former work. He was large, meaty and looked permanently irascible, as if the entire world was there solely to get under his skin and cause him acute disappointment. He also seemed to like shouting. His sandy hair was cut in a military-style crew-cut and his eyebrows ran in a thick and unbroken line. It gave him a fierce appearance which went well with the gun he was clutching like a child’s toy in one big, muscular fist. I guessed his age at fifty-plus, but it was hard to tell.
He merely nodded when I finally managed to untangle my bowels at the sight of the rifle and say hi. I guessed his lack of warmth implied that as I was merely a hired help I shouldn’t get any ideas of us becoming friends. It was reinforced by the beady look he switched between Lilly-Mae and me as we approached across the lawn, as if we’d been caught getting up to something naughty in the woodshed. I should be so lucky.
As I made to follow him inside the house he stared down at my feet. In the confusion of meeting Lilly-Mae, I’d forgotten to put my shoes back on.
‘You some kinda nature freak?’ he muttered, then turned and went inside before I could answer. In the background the wrestler twins stared at me as if I’d passed wind at a funeral, their dull expressions making me wonder if they were the results of local in-breeding. I scrabbled for my shoes and socks and followed their boss inside.
The house was cool and dark, every trace of sunshine kept out by the drawn drapes. Mekashnik jerked his head at Lilly-Mae, who went round opening them, flooding the room with light. It revealed a large, modern rectangle with a scattering of armchairs, ditto coffe
e tables, a couple of settees and, in one corner, a huge desk bearing a leather blotter, a telephone, a small lamp and a laptop. The floor was deeply-polished hardwood block on which sat three Persian rugs. The overall effect was relaxed, expensive and stylish, but more like a hotel foyer than a home. It certainly wasn’t the corporate office environment I’d been expecting.
Mekashnik looked at Lilly-Mae and jerked his head towards the door. ‘You got some things you gotta be doing, Lilly-Mae?’
It wasn’t a question. But Lilly-Mae didn’t seem to mind. She shrugged off the less than courteous dismissal and drifted towards the door, pausing only to look back at me. ‘Say, Mr Foreman,’ she drawled in that low, husky voice. ‘You have a nice trip back, y’hear?’ Then she winked at me in a meaningful manner and said, ‘It was real nice seein’ ya.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, and felt my face burn. I eyed Mekashnik to see his reaction, but he’d already turned away and appeared not to have heard. As the door closed behind her, he put the rifle down by the desk, then switched on the laptop. As it started up, he held out his hand. Taking it as my signal to leave, I handed him the envelope and made for the door.
‘Where the hell are you going?’ His voice brought me up short.
‘Package delivered,’ I said. ‘I’m booked on a flight from Charlotte.’
‘Take a seat.’ He pointed at a chair across from the desk, the finger brooking no argument. Plainly he was a man accustomed to being obeyed, and I remembered Clayton’s joke about what had happened to people who upset him. Joke or not, I’d met quite a few people who gave off the same kind of vibe as Mekashnik was right now, and they were people I’d always been very careful not to upset. Something told me that Clayton had either been telling fibs about this man or he didn’t know Mekashnik as well as he thought he did.
Smart Moves Page 16
