“Charlie?” Darcy rasped.
“Is this a bad time?” Charlie had no intention of waiting, but manners were important.
The soldier stood up and shook Darcy's hand. “I'll get out of your hair.” He said in a thick Scottish accent and handed Darcy the bottle. “Thanks for your help, Father.”
“Thank you for this. Are you sure you won't share it?”
“Try to stay away from the stuff, prefer to keep a clear head.” The soldier tapped his skull and turned to Charlie. “Sorry mate, I'll leave you gents to it.”
Charlie smiled gratefully. He stepped forward, drawing the soldier's attention.
“Where'd you serve?” He asked Charlie.
“London Central,” Charlie replied.
“Sorry, I thought you were a soldier.”
“Oh but Charlie is a soldier. A soldier of God,” Darcy said proudly.
Charlie rolled his eyes. “Yeah something like that.”
“Nice to meet you anyway,” the Scotsman said awkwardly and shuffled past Charlie to get out of the church.
“You know I wish you wouldn't do that,” Charlie told the priest once they were alone.
“And I wish you'd stop denying it. When God spoke to me he told me you were his angels, Charlie, you and your kind are destined for great things.”
“Yeah well the rest of the world doesn't think that and if I remember the story right, you'd had at least two bottles of that before God started talking to you.”
Darcy rapped Charlie across the back of the head. “Don't blaspheme and open this for me.” He pushed the bottle into Charlie's hands. “Damn arthritis, I swear it's the devil.”
Charlie opened the bottle and handed it back to him. The soldier had managed to get some pretty expensive booze. Charlie was impressed, all he'd brought Darcy was bad news.
“I didn't expect to see you. Young John not with you?”
“I think he's afraid he might spontaneously combust if he enters a House of God.”
Darcy laughed and sipped from the bottle. He gestured that they sit down underneath the large crucifix hanging on the wall. No one can hide from God. That was always Darcy's motto. Sometimes Charlie thought he was made to sit there just so Darcy knew he was telling the truth.
“If you're still here I take it so is the girl?”
This was the moment Charlie was dreading. He hated standing up to Darcy. He'd rather stand up against God, He was less vengeful. “She's staying with us.”
“You think your life is better than a life at the convent?”
“No, but she does. She won't let us take her to safety. In fact, she outright refuses. We figured our only option was keeping her with us.”
“She's important, Charlie, and your work–your work is violent and dangerous.”
“This world is violent and dangerous. Darcy, I'm not going to force her to go anywhere she doesn't want to. She's a grown woman, she can think for herself. And she's tough, even managed to impress John. But that's not why I'm here.”
Darcy sat back in his chair. For an eighty-year-old his movements were lucid and effortless. It filled Charlie with envy.
“Pinky Morris has threatened to kill you if we don't bring him Rachel.”
“You must not give her to him, Charlie.”
“Of course I'm not going to let him have her. Jesus, what do you think I am?”
“Jesus knows exactly what you are,” Darcy replied.
Charlie sighed to himself. He used to argue theology with the priest, now it was easier to just let the comments slide. “I just came to give you a heads up. Pinky Morris has our money and because of his behaviour I've decided to charge interest. Things are going to get messy. You might want to think about moving on.”
“There is more to this life than money.”
“This isn't about money. We were going to work the job for the pittance that was offered, but Pinky Morris isn't going to let us walk away, or Rachel for that matter. This has to happen.”
Darcy's brow lowered as if the very effort of thinking about Charlie's intentions were weighing him down. “This is a dangerous game you insist on playing, Charlie. Wouldn't it be better to just run?”
“That's what the game is, Darcy. We run and we're chased. The trick to surviving is making sure you have taken enough away from your enemies before they come after you. I've got to get back. We probably won't get chance to see you for a while.”
“I understand. Take care of the girl, Charlie. If anything happens to her…”
Charlie nodded. “Will you leave the city?”
“Not quite yet. My work here is still unfinished. Don't you worry about me. I've got a whole army in the room upstairs.” Darcy chuckled to himself as he reached out and clutched Charlie's arm. “I mean it, Charlie. Look after her for me, please.”
“I promise you nothing will happen to her while I'm breathing.” And he intended to stay breathing for as long as possible.
* * *
Donnie walked away from the church. He took the first corner and stopped to make a call.
“Boss, it's me. Charlie Smith has just shown up at the church.”
“Did you give my message to the priest?”
“I told him if he wanted his secret kept he'd make sure the Smith Brothers brought you the girl.”
Donnie waited for the dial tone and made his second call.
“Gary, it's me. Are we ready for tonight?”
22
Rachel opened the door to her old flat. It was almost exactly as she had left it, complete with a sink full of dirty dishes. Twenty-four hours had changed everything in her life, but not this place. This would never change.
“You live here?” Roxy said, pushing her aside to inspect the square room in amusement.
“I lived here,” Rachel corrected under her breath. She ran her fingers over the unmade bed.
“It's…” Roxy grasped for the right word, clicking his fingers. “Enchanting.”
“Screw you. I suppose you live in a mansion.”
He wandered about the room, scrutinising the little that was there. Rachel was about to object until she realised there was nothing in the flat worth looking at. At least she didn't think there was.
“Please tell me these are yours,” he said holding up a pair of boxers.
“Not my size,” Rachel replied.
“So what, they belong to a casual passer-by? Evening trade? Long lost brother?”
“They're my boyfriend's.”
Roxy fell back on the bed, groaning as his back hit the bed slats in the bare bits of mattress. “Don't you mean ex-boyfriend?”
Rachel shrugged. “Probably not for another week or so, when he gets hungry and realises I've actually gone.”
“Is he another doctor?”
“Charlie didn't tell you? Mark's a cop.”
Roxy sat up. His face flitted between disturbed and hysteria. “A cop?”
“A cop.”
“A cop?”
“Yes.”
“Living here?”
“Yes.”
“With you?”
“Jesus, Roxy, do you want me to write it down for you? I live with a cop.”
Roxy sucked in a breath, his eyes wide with wonder and amusement. He looked like he was ready to unleash another onslaught of repetitive questions but held it in.
“A cop?” He shook his head. “I knew they were stupid, but seriously, one has been living with a Reacher for how long?”
“Four years,” she said and waited for another wave of disbelief.
“You're either really good or he is yokel dumb.”
Rachel smiled. “I'd say it's half and half.”
There was nowhere else to sit but the bed. She slumped down beside him. The dip in the mattress pressed them together. Her hand brushed his. His pulse was racing with adrenaline. He was excited, nervous, and brimming with energy. He was like a drug addict, but his blood was clean. His habit was danger and he was just getting stuck into a whole heap of
trouble and he loved it. She reached her fingers out further, curious to unravel him a little. He shifted his body away from her, but leaned his face closer. His lips dallied around hers. He thought she wouldn't be able to resist him. But Rachel wasn't so easily conquered.
“You know there are more interesting ways to find out all my secrets,” he murmured.
She tilted her head slightly. “I already touched you, what makes you think I don't already know them?”
He scowled, uncertainty written all over his face. She patted his leg. “Don't worry. I won't tell a soul.”
Roxy smirked as he realised it was a bluff. “You might be just what those brothers actually need. It's about time they were taught humour.”
“What are you talking about? John's a laugh a minute.”
“That he is. What is it they say about him? You will know him by the trail of laughing corpses.”
“I guess he got the looks and Charlie got the charm.”
Roxy scoffed at the suggestion. “Charm? That motherfucker couldn't charm if he was dangling off a necklace.”
“What's your problem with Charlie?”
“I don't have a problem with him.”
It was Rachel's turn to scoff. “Bullshit. John treats you like crap, but it's Charlie you're cold with.”
“As you said, John's prettier to look at. Much prettier these days. Charlie really has let himself go.”
Rachel folded her arms. “Spill it.”
“No.”
“I'll touch you again.”
“Do I get to pick where?”
“I'll grab your hand and every dark thought you've got rattling around in there will be mine.” It was a lie. At best she'd be able to induce a headache.
He hesitated. The truth was clearly festering inside him and he squirmed in his seat as though it was taking every effort to hold it in. “Charlie's a selfish bastard, always has been.” Roxy's mouth twitched, his mask slipped, and as the emotion escaped he couldn't hide from himself. “He stole my girlfriend, my best friend in all the world, married her, and then ended up getting her killed.”
“Then why work with him?”
“Because he's the best. You can count on him when you're on a job, just not when you're sitting at home looking after his kid, it would seem.”
“You know he relives it every day. He's in hell,” Rachel told him. “I read his mind and there was nothing but pain.”
“Good, he deserves it.”
Rachel decided to let it drop. He wasn't going to change his mind about Charlie, at least not anytime soon. Roxy's composure was still low. He played with a cigarette in deep thought. Rachel got a feeling that his low times were tough, and she wasn't in a charitable mood to spend the next hour watching him mope.
She nudged him in the elbow. “Come on, then. I figure we've got half an hour, we might as well do it.”
“Do it? What are you, twelve?” He started to laugh. Whether it was his normal self, or just the suit he wore, he was now smiling with ease. He leaned back on the bed and groaned again. “Fine, but if we're going to do it you're going to have to find a better bed. I've been in more comfortable fights than this.”
Roxy fidgeted and grumbled until Rachel couldn't put up with it any more. She went to do the dishes before she killed him. She emptied out the sink, remembering the endless days of chores after a twelve hour shift. Roxy hummed behind her, drawing her back to reality. Soon Charlie and John would be back and this old life would be gone forever. A smile touched her face. She hummed back.
23
Riva and Pinky had been up all night. Neither one spoke. There wasn't a lot left to say. The room Riva had reserved for Rachel was empty. Two of their men were dead. And Donnie was still lurking in their shadow. He unsettled Riva, he always had. He had a way of looking at her, as though he were peeling the skin from her bones with just his eyes. Now he'd been in her house. The alarm was intact. There were no broken windows or picked locks. It meant he could do it again.
And it was clear now that Donnie wasn't on their side. He hadn't come back home, he'd come back to find the girl, and he'd used Pinky to get her. Pinky sat at their breakfast bar, picking strands of dead skin from his fingers. His eczema was back, stretching over his hands and arms, turning them bright pink and flaky. He ground his teeth, glaring at the marble floor, impatiently waiting for it to throw back answers. His blood pressure was up again. It had been since he'd learned of Rachel, and it wouldn't go down until they had her locked upstairs out of the way.
“Have you thought about paying the Smith Brothers?” She said, finally breaking the silence. “You could use men like them on your side while Donnie is still in the picture.”
“They know too much,” he stated.
“They know she's a girl, that's it. Pinky, honey, you need to protect yourself and the business. We need people we can rely on. They didn't know Izzy, they're not likely to put two and two together.”
Pinky slammed his hand against the bar. “But Roxy knew. Who's to say he didn't tell them? Who's to say they didn't kill Jackie Walters?”
“They were at the bar that night,” she assured him. “You're beginning to sound like Frank!”
He'd never hit her before. In all their married life, in all their feuds, and God knows there were a lot of them, he had never raised his hand to her. When it slapped across her cheek they were both surprised. It didn't hurt; at least the impact didn't. What Riva felt was deeper and more damaging than the slap alone. She thought about hitting him back, twice as hard, with something solid.
He stared at her, hatred burning in the back of his eyes. He looked like his brother. The brother who used to hit girls for fun. The brother who handcuffed a whore to his car door and drove off. The brother who made a little girl fuck all of his friends and learn their secrets.
“You've got a whole army of men at your disposal now. Get them here to guard this house. I don't want anyone getting in here again!”
She tried to face him. She was a strong woman, but her legs were shaking. “You touch me again,” she quaked.
He grabbed her then, squeezing her arms so tight she cried out. “You'll what? Go crying to Pablo–oh, I forgot.”
This isn't him, she told herself. This isn't the man I love.
“Get your men guarding this house tonight!” He tossed her back.
He made to leave and stopped himself. When he glanced back at her he seemed confused, like he didn't know where he was. His fingers scratched at the dead skin on his arms.
“I'm tired, I'm going to bed,” he said softly.
As he left Riva cried. They just needed the girl, then everything would be all right. She had to make sure they got the girl.
24
“Well hurry, darling, we miss you,” Roxy hung up on Charlie. “He's on the way,” he told Rachel.
A key was pressed into the door.
“That was quick.”
Rachel gasped. “Oh crap–it's Mark.”
The door was clumsily pushed open. Mark lumbered in with his usual dopey smile. He was always so pleased to be home, as though the tiny room they lived in was something of a comfort. When he saw Rachel his face lit up, delighted they finally had a moment together. Then the other man in the room attracted his peripheral vision. Rachel watched his face morph as his brain slowly processed the scene. Surprise, confusion, suspicion. Mark gawped, his mind unable to assemble words. Rachel closed her eyes waiting for the fallout.
“Officer.” The commanding tone to Roxy's gravelly voice surprised her. She opened her eyes and he looked like a totally different man. He'd pushed his hair back, was standing tall, his shoulders wide. He dominated the space around him as a man of authority would. He reached out for Mark's hand, blithely ignoring Rachel. “Hope you don't mind me dropping by like this, Mark, disturbing you and your lady here.”
Mark shook his vacant head, he had no idea what was going on, and now neither did Rachel.
“Eh, no. Eh, who are you?” Mark asked.
Roxy looked genuinely offended. “You don't recognise me from the station?” He pulled out a leather wallet and flashed him an ID card—a police card. Rachel couldn't believe it.
“Special Agent Black, State Security. So I take it your staff sergeant didn't tell you I was coming?” Roxy sighed in despair. “No wonder this city is falling apart, I specifically asked that they contact you.”
“No sir, nobody spoke to me.” Mark gulped, he looked afraid.
“Imbeciles. So you have no idea why I'm here?”
“No, sir.”
“Don't look so worried,” Roxy laughed. “Or do you have something to be worried about?”
“Eh, no sir.”
“Good. We've been watching your work, Mark and, well, we're impressed. Good officers are difficult to find and we need men that we can trust now more than ever.”
The fear in Mark's face was transforming. This visit was what he'd been hoping for. All those extra shifts, someone had finally noticed him.
Rachel was frowning so hard her head started to hurt. Mark was buying the whole scam. If he looked, really looked, it was obvious Roxy wasn't the police. But he was selling an idea, one Mark wanted to believe above all else, and somehow it was working.
“Eh, thank you,” Mark said.
“So we've cleared it with your boss. For this week you're off patrol and working for us. We have an important job for you but this stays between us, Mark. No going back to the station, no communication with anyone but me. Can you do that, officer?”
Mark's lip wobbled. Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose. It was getting painful to watch.
“This could be the making of you, son. Most people would kill for an opportunity like this.” Roxy looked him up and down, weighing him up, judging his capabilities. “Now I need you in casual clothes, dark clothes.”
“Eh, I don't have…”
Roxy waved his hand, “All right then, you'll have to buy some. You'll be staking out the place for a week, so bring provisions. Keep the receipts, we'll reimburse you. And pick up a phone too. Do not give the number to anyone but me, understand?”
Roxy handed him a card. “My number is on the back. Now there's an empty warehouse on the industrial estate. Block four, number eight. Be there at eight o'clock sharp. Do not be late and make sure you're not seen. I'll brief you on the particulars there.”
The Running Game (Reachers Book 1) Page 14
