Deadly Obsession

by Nigel May

  It was then that the seeds had begun to germinate in Tommy’s mind once again. Riley was right, Cazwell had always said that a base away from the factory would be a good idea. It had been one of the things he’d been contemplating before his death. A club would have made Cazwell proud. But could Riley be trusted to make it work? Knowing him, he would probably have bankrupted the place before the first punter walked through the door.

  Tommy had money. He could invest in Riley’s idea and safeguard his own capital by making sure Riley signed a few more dotted lines here and there ensuring that everything came back to him. Yes, maybe a club was good idea. A respected venue could be a nice little earner and equally act as a cover-up for any jobs that needed to be sorted.

  Despite still being desperate to play the Big I-Am, Riley knew that borrowing the money from Tommy would be his only chance to make it work. As Tommy said, ‘Make it a success, you pay me back ... you fuck it up, I take charge.’ Riley was certain that the result would be the former and not the latter.

  Tommy lent the money happily, considering it a win-win investment and left it to Riley to find a venue. It was once he had that things started to unravel.

  The space was a derelict old office block. Unused, in a good area of Manchester and considering its immense size, the price was incredibly low. It ticked all the boxes. At least that’s what the weasel of an estate agent who was flogging the property kept saying anyway. When Riley had taken his name and number from the sign hanging on the front door and phoned him, the agent was insistent that they should move fast. Other parties were interested in buying it too and the early bird was definitely going to be the lucky buyer to get the worm.

  Riley could see its potential, as could Amy when he took her to see it. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on the property and pushed Riley to do everything he could to make sure it was theirs before somebody else pulled it from under their feet. Riley, keen to please, arranged a cash deal for the venue and planned to meet the estate agent as soon as possible, something that the overly exuberant and somewhat childishly excited agent couldn’t wait to do.

  It had been a dark, damp morning in January 2013 when Riley had headed to the property to hand over the cash. His appointment was scheduled for 11am. He’d turned up an hour early in eagerness and found the office door open. When he’d ventured inside he’d found the agent discussing a deal with another man. A man Riley instantly recognised as Adam Rich. Adam, the only man with the same kind of feared notoriety in Manchester as Riley’s father had possessed and the man who had constantly been Cazwell’s arch rival back in the day. The enmity had been passed on to Riley. Adam and Cazwell had clashed over jobs, fought over women and squared up over their competitive gangland manors. Neither wanted to be number two.

  Adam was handing over a case full of cash to the agent. Riley had hung back in the shadows cast by the pillars within the office, not letting either man know of his arrival. Automatically he placed his hand on his overcoat and traced the outline of the gun housed inside his pocket. He never went anywhere without it and if he and Adam were inside the same room together then he had a strong suspicion that he might need to reach for it.

  Riley listened in to the men’s conversation. It was the whiny agent who spoke first, his voice snivelling, his actions shifty. His eyes darted around the room as if looking for someone. ‘Right, this place is yours, the paperwork is all here ...’ He handed Adam a brown padded envelope in exchange for the briefcase. ‘Enjoy it, whatever you decide to do with it.’

  Adam, a man who had thrived on his sharp business sense to shape his criminal empire, was not convinced. He could smell a rat. ‘Do you not want to count the cash? £250K ... It’s all there ... and surely you need me to sign something.’ The agent tugged at the case, trying to free it from Adam’s knuckle-bound grip.

  ‘No need, you can take the paperwork away with you to read and then sign it when you’re happy. Drop it into my office when you can. The address is in there.’ He indicated the envelope.

  Riley shifted position behind the pillar, trying hard to hear every word. As he did so his foot kicked a stray piece of rubble. The noise was sufficient for the two men to hear. Adam turned to face him and his concentration lapsed as he recognised Riley Hart, causing him to let go of the case. The agent, realising that this was not what he had planned, turned to run from the room, case in hand. Riley, with lightning speed, pulled the gun from his overcoat pocket and fired a bullet into the concrete floor in front of the agent causing him to stop dead in his tracks. He dropped to his knees and cowered with his hands above his head.

  ‘I think you should give the man his money back, don’t you?’ stated Riley. ‘You’d have been wanting mine in an hour ...’ Riley held up the case towards Adam. The look on his face told Riley that his nemesis understood his meaning.

  ‘Another buyer ... and you, of all fucking people,’ said Adam. An incredulous grin opened across his face. ‘Looks like this little twat was trying to take us both for a ride.’ He pointed at the agent crouched on the floor.

  Riley walked towards the agent and pointed his gun directly at the man on his knees.

  ‘Right, you blubbering little cunt, care to tell me what the fuck’s going on here ... trying to sell this place twice over?’

  Riley never received a reply. The agent reached into his own pocket as deftly and as inconspicuously as he could and pulled out his own concealed gun. In less than the time it took to draw breath he pointed it towards Riley and the sound of a shot rang out.

  The shot hadn’t been from the agent’s gun. Riley watched as the agent slumped backwards, his face shot away, a pool of deep red blood puddling across the floor. Riley, not even shaken by the close proximity of death, turned to face Adam. The gun in Adam’s hand was still smoking.

  ‘I wasn’t sure you’d seen him go for the gun ...’ said Adam. ‘Seeing as we’re on the same side for once I thought it was the least I could do ...’

  * * *

  The agent had turned out to be anything but legitimate. The name and address on the door were fake. His real name was Weston Smith, a two-bit con artist who had apparently made a habit of targeting derelict buildings across the country, posing as an estate agent and then proceeding to try and sell the same property to as many different people as possible, pocketing the cash-only deals all the way.

  Adam and Riley worked together to dispose of the body, burying it in scrubland at the back of the derelict building. The story would have ended there had it not been for the fact that a few days later word swept through the criminal world that London’s most feared tough guy, Jarrett Smith, was asking questions about the mysterious disappearance of his only son. Last seen in Manchester, Jarrett and his team of henchmen had travelled to the city in order to try and find Weston. Jarrett was determined that if his son had met a grisly end then the person or persons behind it would pay an equally fatal forfeit.

  Adam was paranoid that Jarrett, one of the few men in life he truly feared, would find out that he was the man who pulled the trigger and that his rival, Riley, would be the one to let the murderous cat out of the bag. Riley played the situation to perfection. He insisted that Adam find out who really owned the building, offer a price nobody could refuse for it and then sign it over to him. In Riley’s mind, winning one over on Adam and gaining a club for his own business was the ultimate way to make his dead father proud. The fact that the club would still be signed over to Tommy Hearn was beside the point. Riley had one over on Adam. And Adam could rest easy as his secret was safe from Jarrett Smith and nobody would ever find out about him killing the gangster’s son.

  When building work started on the club, Adam was emphatic that Weston’s body was moved from the scrubland where it risked potential discovery and buried within the foundations of the fresh concrete poured into place to resurface the club floors. His rotting carcass was buried deep beneath The Kitty Kat Club dance floor where Adam knew it would never be found again. The only people who shared hi
s secret were Riley and Tommy.

  Adam had been elated that his secret had died when Riley lost his life at the club. Jarrett Smith, a cut-throat of a man who was more than capable of holding a grudge for forever, would never know the truth. Tommy would never say, not wanting any association between the two rival gangland families. That was a feud that could only end in major bloodshed.

  But what if Riley wasn’t dead? And with the arrival of Amy Hart there was a risk that her snooping around could uncover the truth about the body that lay beneath the floor of what was now the casino.

  That was definitely something that Adam couldn’t risk ...

  33

  Now, 2015

  * * *

  ‘You know that this hotel has an in-house tailor who will make you a tuxedo if you don’t have one. I am not heading to a soirée on the rooftop terrace, dear man, if you are not dressed appropriately. I cannot be seen overlooking Times Square clutching a martini in my hand wearing a Joseph Ribkoff leopard print with you looking anything less than Daniel Craig divine.’

  ‘Caitlyn, we’re in New York City. They do have shops here if I needed to buy a tuxedo, my sweet, and for your information I did pack two before we boarded the jet in London.’

  Caitlyn Rich placed the hotel brochure she was reading from on the bedside table and lay back across the king-sized bed, loving the fresh feel of the cotton sheets against her naked skin. She was in great shape for a woman of her age – forty-seven in reality but thirty-nine to those who dared to ask – and the sexual workout she had just enjoyed with her lover, the man stood equally naked at the end of the bed, would certainly help keep the inches trimmed in all the right places. Her breasts stood proud, even when she lay on her back, but then they would. They were the handiwork of Jona Fleet, the famed Harley Street cosmetic surgeon to the stars, who had made sure that Caitlyn’s considerable breasts, not glamour-model over-large but still sizable enough to give good cleavage, did not stray into different time zones from each other and head under her armpits when she lay on her back. Caitlyn had used one of her joint accounts with Adam to pay for the surgery eighteen months ago. Along with a tummy tuck and a chin dimple operation. The results had been so good that Jona didn’t just ask her for a reference, he asked for a date, and despite being married to one of the most hardened men in the UK, Caitlyn had been glad to oblige. She and Jona, the man now sharing her hotel suite at Manhattan’s reopened famous Knickerbocker Hotel, had been lovers for the past fourteen months.

  Caitlyn’s sex life had never been better. There was still the odd drunken fumble from Adam when he came in smelling of cigar smoke and whisky on one of his nights out with the boys but to be honest, Adam hadn’t really bothered her sexually for years and that was just how she liked it. Adam was her cash cow, her pay cheque, her security. He wasn’t her fun, her freedom, her fantasy. He had his lovers, Caitlyn knew that, and she had hers. And Jona was her latest, and with a nine inch erection bobbing between his legs, he was certainly her greatest too.

  It was his huge erect phallus that caught her attention again as she stared at him from the bed. ‘Well, we need to get rid of that before you go slipping into any clothing as you’d see that delightful monster distending a tuxedo made from the thickest of materials. I love the fact it’s ready for action so soon after its last workout.’

  ‘Can you blame it, Caitlyn? Look at you. You could turn any man on with a body like that. Even if I say so myself,’ said the surgeon, his cock throbbing with anticipatory delight.

  ‘Well, it’s your doing, Jona. Now fix me a Martini and come back to bed. We didn’t fly across the Atlantic in your jet for a romantic weekend to not make use of every delightful moment.’

  ‘I’ll phone down and order room service. They supposedly invented the Martini in this hotel back in 1912 so nobody is going to make it better than them.’ Jona moved to the bedside table and stared down at Caitlyn’s curves and the soft, downy patch of hair between her legs as he picked up the phone to order the Martini. His cock, still hard and proud, stood out in front of him. As he spoke on the phone, Caitlyn moved into position at the side of the bed and took his hardness into her mouth, working the shaft expertly with her tongue and lips as he placed the order for two Martinis. Caitlyn nibbled gently on the tip of his erection with her teeth causing her lover to flinch slightly as he hung up the phone.

  ‘Now now, you can stop that right away,’ he joked. ‘If you’re hungry I’ll treat you to dinner in one of the sky pods at the St Cloud over Times Square. And yes, I’ll be wearing a tuxedo.’ Jona climbed onto the bed as he spoke and moved Caitlyn into position, lying her on her back once more underneath him.

  ‘This is no time to talk about restaurants. And what’s with all this Amerifying everything … if that’s a word. We’re both British, for heaven’s sake, it’s a dinner jacket, not a tuxedo.’

  ‘Well, you started it, my angel. Now. Talking of dinner, I seem to have quite an appetite.’ Jona placed his hands between Caitlyn’s legs and opened the folds of her pussy to reveal the juicy pink core within. He buried his face deep inside and began licking at the flower within.

  Caitlyn threw her head back in delight at the pleasure she was experiencing from his tongue. Neither Caitlyn nor Jona heard the knock of the door from room service as, unable to wait any longer, she moved Jona’s mouth from her sex and eagerly slid his nine inches into her. The Martinis would still be on the menu later on.

  34

  Now, 2015

  * * *

  Amy’s visit to the casino had not gone as planned. She had followed Adam into the building and watched as he marched into Tommy’s office. Whatever he wished to discuss, it was clear that he meant business. Determined not to be spotted, Amy had closeted herself as closely as possible, attempting to remain as hidden as she could. Screened behind a fruit machine, she angled herself to try and eavesdrop on the clandestine conversation between Adam and Tommy. It was futile – all she could hear was the constant noise of the gambling machines surrounding her.

  She watched through the open door of the office as Adam banged his fist on the table, then stabbed his finger towards Tommy and threw his hands to his head. It was clear he was agitated. She was surprised the door had been left open but even though it was she still struggled to hear. She was sure she could read the words ‘Riley’ and ‘Amy’ on his lips. Was she imagining it? She had to try and move closer without the risk of being seen. She was just about to try when a voice sounded ...

  ‘Can I help you? Are you looking for someone?’ It was a man, early twenties, good looking. From his black waistcoat and crisp white shirt combo Amy guessed that he worked at the casino. ‘If you’re looking for the cash booth, it’s over there.’ He pointed towards the far side of the room.

  ‘No, I was after a job.’ It was the first thing Amy could think of to say and she was sure the lie was visible on her face as she felt her cheeks begin to redden with embarrassment. ‘I was wondering if I could pick up an application form if you have any positions vacant, especially over the Christmas and New Year period. I’m looking to make a bit of money ... I’d be good at it ...’ Amy drew her ramblings to an end, aware of just how unconvincing she could hear herself being.

  The man, however, obviously as naive as he was handsome, seemed to believe her. ‘Oh right, I’ll go and find you a form. I’m sure I heard the boss say he was looking for more people.’

  The boss. Tommy. Amy looked back towards the office where Tommy and Adam’s little one-to-one was still in full, furious flow. She had to try and hear what they were saying. Determined to get rid of the man who was stopping her from doing so, Amy fired off her reply. ‘Yeah, that’s great, if you could I’d be really grateful.’

  ‘I hope it works out for you,’ replied the man with more than a measure of flirtation in his voice. ‘We could do with some fit girls working here. I’ve only been here a few weeks. Used to live in north Wales, thought I’d come to a big city to earn some dough. This is my first job. I
t’s all right, the boss is a bit of a git but he’s okay. I’m Jimmy by the way ...’

  ‘Er, hi ... nice to meet you’ said Amy, half-listening. Her eyes were still fixed on the office. She could see that Jimmy had his hand outstretched towards her out of the corner of her eye. God, this was all she needed ...

  ‘Hi Jimmy, cheers ... yeah, if you could ... er ... get me ... a form that would be excellent,’ she faltered, shaking his hand and smiling weakly.

  ‘Sure thing, I’ll be right back.’ He winked cheekily at her before turning and wandering off.

  The conversation, short though it was, was long enough to ruin Amy’s chances of attempting to decipher any more of the exchange between Adam and Tommy. When she stared back towards the office, the door was now wide open and only Tommy was inside. Where had Adam gone?

  Frenziedly scanning her eyes around the casino, Amy tried to locate him. His bald head, the scrunched up skin on his neck and his broad back were not hard to spot as he pounded his way towards the exit. Whatever he had been saying to Tommy, it was clear that it was both over and had done nothing to appease his tantrum. Amy wanted to speak to Adam, maybe she should follow him. If she did maybe some clue about Riley’s ‘death’ would come to light. She was certain that she’d lip-read his name. But she was here to see Tommy. He was still in his office, his mood not exactly jubilant either from the look of deep worry etched across his features. Amy was unsure what to do. Should she follow Adam or do what she’d come to do and see Tommy?

  The decision was made for her.

  ‘I couldn’t find a form ...’ The male voice came from behind and Amy felt a hand on her shoulder. It was an animated Jimmy. She turned to face him. ‘But I’ve brought the lady who does the interviews here with me, as she said she’d see you now if you fancy ... is that a bit of luck, or what?’