by Jessie Keane
‘No, just me,’ he said, smiling; but the smile looked strained. He stared at Max. ‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Golden Boy,’ said Max, letting the hand holding the gun fall to his side.
Annie shot him a furious look. Max would never be cool with Alberto, particularly not since Alberto had linked up with Layla, their daughter. She turned back to her stepson. ‘What’s happening?’ she asked. ‘We found Mrs McAllister tied up in the kitchen.’
‘You what?’
‘Redmond Delaney’s in here somewhere. He’s after Constantine. Didn’t you hear us coming in on the chopper?’
Alberto looked blank. Then he shook his head. ‘We haven’t heard a thing. These walls are three feet thick, you forgotten that? Delaney! For God’s sake. How did that happen?’
‘One of ours gave the game away,’ said Max. ‘Told Redmond that your dad organized the hit on him and Orla back in the seventies, told him Constantine’s still with us. Bit of a fucking shocker, to be honest. And your aunt spilled the beans over this place, so he knows where to find your father. The Delaneys don’t do forgiveness. Redmond’s come for blood.’
‘We’ve got Papa under guard upstairs,’ said Alberto. ‘He’s safe.’
Not for long, thought Annie. Not if Redmond can get through. And if Redmond can’t, then Max will.
She was aware that if she announced Max’s sworn intention to Alberto’s men, then Max would be toast. So she couldn’t. But somehow, she had to try to find a way to stand between Constantine – who was helpless now, more to be pitied than feared – and two people intent on killing him.
Somehow.
If only she knew how.
‘He’s been asking for me,’ said Annie. ‘Hasn’t he.’
‘That’s right.’ Alberto gave a sad smile. ‘He’s been remembering you these past few weeks. But I don’t suppose it’ll last. He’s getting worse. Much worse.’
‘Layla’s not here, is she?’ asked Max sharply.
‘Layla’s safe,’ said Alberto. ‘She’s a thousand miles away.’
‘Let’s get up there and see him then,’ said Annie.
110
They crept up the stairs where the upper floor opened out on to a big stone landing hung with tapestries that once had been bright and glorious reds and yellows but were now muted to pink and ochre; there were lights up here, but they were faint, and there were too many shadowy corners for a madman with red hair to hide in. Annie didn’t like it at all.
As they turned a corner and approached the master bedroom, she breathed a sigh of relief. There, sitting in a chair on guard outside Constantine’s bedroom door, was a bulky minder. They went closer and Alberto signalled to the man, but he didn’t look round.
A look passed between Alberto and Max. Then as a group they all moved forward again. Steve put a hand out to the minder, touching the man’s shoulder, and he slumped sideways in the chair and hung there over the arm of it, unconscious. As he did so they could see a bloody egg-shaped lump on the back of his head. Annie felt a chill of dread. Somehow, Redmond had got in close enough to strike.
Alberto put a hand to the man’s neck, feeling for a pulse. He found one, nodded; and looked at the closed door leading to the bedroom. His father was in there. And so – without a doubt – was Redmond Delaney.
Alberto started forward but Max caught his arm. ‘Is there another way in?’ he whispered. He knew it would be suicide for the first person who walked through that door.
Annie spoke, very low. ‘There’s a secret passageway leading up from the hall. It opens in the bedroom, a false bookcase – I can show you.’
‘How long?’ Max asked her.
‘Three minutes, if we run,’ said Annie.
Max glanced at his watch and then looked at Alberto. ‘Three minutes,’ he said.
‘In three minutes my father could be dead,’ said Alberto urgently.
‘Less than that and you could be, too,’ Max hissed. ‘This bastard don’t take prisoners. Not that I give a stuff, but my daughter thinks the sun shines out of your arse, so go with it, OK?’
Alberto paused. Looked at the door, at Annie, at Max. ‘Three minutes,’ he nodded, and checked his watch.
Max and Annie ran.
111
‘Christ, when was the last time anyone used this thing?’ Max whispered to Annie as they opened the concealed door into the spiral staircase that led up to the master bedroom. He was leading the way with a pencil torch, swiping thick cobwebs away as he charged up the stairs. There was a faint smell of rat urine burning their noses, and the ancient stones were green with moss. Even though it was the height of summer, it was bone-chillingly cold in here.
Annie was following, trying to stay calm. As usual under pressure, Max was clearly having fun, but all she could think about was what would happen when they reached the top, and what they would find when they stepped out into the bedroom itself.
Constantine, lying dead on the bed, his throat slashed like Gary’s and Jackie’s?
Or Redmond, looming over him, just about to do the deed?
And if they managed to stop him, what then? Max had his own agenda, and that was dangerous. If he tried to kill Constantine, she had to find a way to stop him. Constantine was no rival to Max. But if Max went ahead with his promise and he succeeded, for certain Alberto would be forced to kill him, and that would destroy her, break her heart – and Layla’s too. She couldn’t let that happen.
They reached the top of the stairs and there was the door. On the other side of it, there would be the fake bookcase, nothing to give them away. So they had the element of surprise on their side. Annie remembered once marvelling at the books in that case right beside the bed, how convincing they appeared; they gave every appearance of real books when they were anything but. She had read to Constantine sometimes in the last year or so, sitting beside his bed; and he had joked sometimes, get another book, that one’s crap, and he would indicate the bookcase. Once she went there and tried to pick a book out from the others; but the book she selected was nothing, just blank pages inside a gold-blocked cover.
Max stopped, breathing hard, looking at his watch.
‘Minute to go,’ he mouthed at her as she stood there on the top step, heart pounding, breath coming in shallow gasps.
Max kept the penlight trained on his Rolex, and slipped the gun out of his pocket. Annie’s eyes met his.
‘No prisoners,’ he said. ‘You stay here.’
‘No fucking way,’ she said.
‘I said, you stay here,’ he repeated.
‘And I said, forget it.’ She looked at the watch. ‘Three minutes are up,’ she said, and that was when they heard the gunshot.
112
Annie, standing right behind Max, felt him stiffen and then push forward. He shoved the bookcase open and sprang into the room beyond, gun raised, looking down the barrel as he scanned the bedroom.
Over Max’s shoulder Annie saw Alberto and his two men surging into the room through the main door. There was the fireworks smell of cordite in the air and a man was lying on the floor near the bed with most of his chest shot away, a gun near him on the carpet, and blood all over the place. Annie looked in horror at the face of the dead man. But it wasn’t Redmond. It was his sidekick, Mitchell.
Then she looked at the old man sitting up in the bed. Constantine was holding a big smoking Magnum in his shaking, age-spotted hand, and his face was twisted in triumph.
‘Fucker came in here and thought he’d get the draw on me?’ he asked the assembled company. ‘No chance. I always keep this right under my pillow.’ He shook the gun in his hand. Looked around at Alberto, the two men with him. Then he turned his head and saw Max.
‘Nico! You old bastard, I’ve been looking for you,’ he said with a happy grin, looking straight at Max. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
Alberto moved quickly forward and took the gun from his father’s hand. He looked sharply at Max. ‘So Redmond didn’t come alone. He had company.’
Twisted and clever, that was Redmond. Annie knew it. Cold as ice and sick with it. He’d let his accomplice barge in the front door, let him take the hit. And himself . . . ? Suddenly it was all clear.
She started to turn, but it was too late. Annie felt something cold, metallic, press into the skin of her neck. ‘He’s here . . .’ she managed to get out.
Then from behind her, there came a voice. It whispered in soft southern Irish, very close beside her ear.
‘Yes, Mrs Carter. He certainly is,’ said Redmond.
And then she felt the pressure of the knife harden, nearly cutting off her air, and knew that this time there would be no second chances, no reprieves. She was about to die.
113
She tried to speak and couldn’t. Clever Redmond had laid low and simply followed them on their run up the stairs of the secret passage. She could see Max standing there, all his attention riveted to her and the monster standing behind her. She could see Alberto, raising the gun he’d taken off his father. And the other two – everyone was watching, everyone was still, wondering what to do now.
‘Put the guns down,’ said Redmond.
No one moved.
‘Put them down, or I slit her open right now. It’s messy. And really – do you want to risk that, any of you?’
Annie watched as first Max and then Alberto threw the guns on to the floor. Alberto turned and nodded to the two men behind him, and they too dropped their weapons. Constantine, his expression bewildered now, watched from close by on the bed as Redmond nudged her, straining painfully back against the front of his body, further into the room.
‘Back up, Mr Carter,’ he said, and Max did. ‘You too,’ he said to Alberto, and Alberto instantly did so.
‘Well, this is interesting, wouldn’t you say?’ Redmond looked around the room at them all. ‘Bit of a stalemate, yes? But now listen: all I want is him.’ Redmond nodded to Constantine. ‘The rest of you?’ he shrugged. ‘Not interested.’ The pale grape-green eyes met Max’s. ‘Not even interested where you’re concerned, Max Carter. Old days, we were enemies, weren’t we? Competitors, really.’ He gave a chilly smile. ‘Think you may have accounted for a brother or two of mine, but can I prove it? No, I can’t. And do I give a shit? To be honest, no. I don’t. Now – all that needs to happen is that you all leave the room. That’s all. I’ll keep Mrs Carter here, as insurance. And when I’m done, I’ll let her—’
Out of the corner of her eye Annie saw Constantine move, lunging over the bed toward Redmond. She saw the flash of a blade in his hand as he plunged it into Redmond’s flesh. Redmond buckled to one side and looked down in pained amazement at the knife that was deeply embedded in the side of his thigh.
An agonized high-pitched shriek came out of his mouth, deafening Annie. His hand jerked against her neck and the knife bit hard into her flesh. She felt the stinging pain of it and thought that’s it, I’m dead.
Constantine pulled himself back straight in the bed and as Redmond tottered, off-balance, eyes screwed shut in agony, Max dived flat to the floor, grabbed his fallen gun and fired, shooting low and getting Redmond in the other leg. Redmond shrieked again and went down, dragging Annie with him, choking off her air. The knife grazed her skin deeper, trailing a fiery line of pain behind it.
Max came to his feet in a rush and whacked Redmond on the head with the handgun, hard. Blood flew as the blow opened Redmond’s scalp like a crushed fruit. Finally his grip on the knife at Annie’s throat loosened and he collapsed.
Max hit Redmond again, then grabbed the knife out of his hand as he keeled over, dragging Annie to the floor with him. Max pulled her upright, shoved her roughly away from Redmond and, eyes blazing with hate, he aimed the gun at his old enemy’s head.
Now Redmond was blinking dazedly up at him, blood stinging his eyes from the head wound. He was wincing with the pain of his wounded legs and panting for air.
Alberto came forward and touched Max’s arm. ‘No,’ he said. ‘This one’s ours.’
His two men grabbed Redmond roughly and hauled him up; he couldn’t stand. Dragging his feet behind him, blood cascading down both legs, he was hauled across the room.
‘Do it properly this time,’ said Max.
One of the men was yanking back heavy brocade curtains at the window. He threw the window wide open. A strong gust of salty air swept in and Annie sagged on to a corner of the bed, a hand to her bloodied throat. She watched in horror as she realized what was about to happen.
Below this window there was nothing but a two-hundred-foot drop to the rocks and sea below.
She saw the realization hit Redmond, too.
‘No. No!’ he yelled.
He fought like a mad dog, but he was weak from blood loss and shock. Redmond was lifted off his feet and thrust out to dangle from the window, his hands clawing at the stonework, his bloodied face a rigid mask of terror. His eyes met Annie’s. She thought she would never forget the look on his face. And then the men simply let go, and he vanished, crying out a slowly dwindling yell of despair, until he struck the rocks and was silent at last.
114
‘Maria? Are you all right?’ Constantine asked Annie.
Annie shot Max a look. You see? He thinks you’re Nico, and he thinks I’m Maria.
‘I’m fine,’ she said.
‘Thank God,’ he said, his voice trembling with emotion, and grabbed her hand and kissed it. ‘That bastard, did he hurt you?’
Annie shook her head. She glanced up at Max, standing there in silence, taking this all in.
Constantine looked over at Alberto. ‘Your mother’s OK, son,’ he said.
‘Yeah.’ With a sad sigh Alberto moved closer to the bed while his two henchmen hefted Redmond’s dead minder up on to the window sill, shoving and pulling until he too went spiralling out and down on to the rocks. Then they closed the windows, dragged the brocade curtains closed, and left the room, shutting the door behind them.
‘You and I should have a talk,’ said Max to Constantine. ‘We’ve got a lot to catch up on, wouldn’t you say?’
‘He’s tired,’ said Annie quickly, her eyes pleading with Max. Don’t kill him.
‘Let them talk,’ said Alberto, taking Annie’s arm. ‘It will do Papa good. All this mess? We’ll clear it away later. No worries.’
No worries?
Annie stood up and let Alberto lead her from the room. She glanced back, and there was Max standing with a gun in his hand looking down at Constantine. She was terrified for both of them. Max could kill Constantine, who was helpless now, not the man he was, couldn’t Max see that? And if he did . . . oh Christ, if he did then Alberto would never let Max out of here alive.
115
‘Remember the old days, Nico?’ Constantine was smiling, his eyes vacant. He’d just killed one man and maimed another, and he was no more concerned than if he had squashed a gnat. ‘Sit, sit!’ said Constantine, patting the edge of the bed.
Mental or not, this is one dangerous old cunt, thought Max.
Max pulled up a chair instead, giving himself some distance, and kept the gun in his hand for insurance. If Constantine could hide a bloody great Magnum pistol and a knife under his pillows, then he could have other weapons hidden, too.
‘Remember all those times we had together?’ said Constantine, heaving a fond sigh. ‘When we were young foot soldiers, getting agita off our women for being so wild? What times we had, Nico. Chasing the coin, having sit-downs with the other people when there were turf disputes, we were on top of the world.’
‘I’m not Nico, I’m Max,’ he told him. ‘Remember? Max Carter.’
Constantine looked puzzled. ‘But . . . I don’t understand. You were dead. That woman, that other one . . .’
‘Annie.’
‘I helped her find her daughter when you’d been hit. Abroad somewhere, in Europe.’
‘You did.’ Max thought about this: yes, he did owe Constantine a debt of gratitude. And he hated that. He thought of this old cunt trying to
seduce his wife, trying to get her drunk, tormenting her with sex shows.
‘I never see her these days,’ said Constantine. ‘Annie, I mean. Maria comes and visits me. You know what I wish?’ Constantine lay back on the pillows and for a moment he looked ancient, ready for the tomb.
‘No. What do you wish?’ asked Max.
‘I wish I could die now,’ said Constantine, closing his eyes wearily. ‘This life? It ain’t all that, my friend. You get old and you ache and you forget things. Nothing tastes good. You don’t even want a fuck. It’s pathetic.’
Max stared at the face of the man who had once been so powerful, so fearful. Now, he was nothing but a shell. There was nothing for Max to do except what he’d come for. To kill Constantine, to finish him once and for all. To have revenge on the guy who’d stepped into his shoes with Annie and made her deceive him for so long.
Now was his chance. He had the gun in his hand, it would be a simple matter to pull the trigger and finish it at last; end the old godfather’s sad remnant of a life.
The eyes opened, still blue, but no longer sharp. They were milky; faded with age. The head turned on the scrawny neck and Constantine looked straight at Max.
‘You understand what I’m saying, don’t you, Nico?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ said Max, not bothering to correct him this time. ‘I do.’
‘That’s what I would like,’ said Constantine.
‘You could have done it,’ said Max. ‘You had the gun, the knife. So did you really want it that much?’
Constantine shrugged. ‘Maybe I could. Nothing’s right any more, Nico. You’re the only friend I have left in the world, you’ll look after Maria for me, I know that. You swear that, don’t you? I’ve been waiting for you to come and now you have, it’s time. If I know you’ll do that, then I’m ready and there’s nothing else left for me.’
Max cleared his throat. Stupid to feel choked up, but he did. ‘Yeah. I swear.’
