by J G Alva
Yilmaz gave him a small smile.
“This is good. Yilmaz has become used to a life easier than some. Let us rejoin the women, yes? Before other men are aware of a table with so many beautiful things on it.”
◆◆◆
He told her of the plan that night in bed.
They had pushed the two beds together, and Nick had secured the legs with a belt, but the gap between the beds made it uncomfortable, so they were mostly on her side, nearest the balcony, cuddled together, his arms around her, his head buried in her hair.
“I need to dye my hair,” Nick said. “Blonde, I think. But I don’t know how to do it. Will you...help me?”
She paused.
“Okay.”
There was silence between them then, and it went on so long Nick thought that Rebekah must have gone to sleep. When she spoke, her voice almost made him jump.
“I’ve seen you sometimes,” she said eventually.
“What?”
“When you didn’t think I was watching. This look used to come over your face...and I knew you were thinking about him. You hate him.”
“Puts it mildly.”
“I don’t like that look on your face,” she said. “It makes you…ugly.”
It’s an ugly feeling, he thought, but didn’t say anything.
“Is there a chance you could get hurt?” She asked in a small voice.
“I suppose so, but it’s very slim. What I plan to do...I won’t need to get anywhere near him.”
“But you will,” she said knowingly. “You’ll want him to know who took everything away from him. You’ll want to see the look on his face when he works it all out.”
She knows me too well, he thought. Christ, am I that transparent?
“Is this all that means anything to you now?” She asked. “This hate?”
“You know that’s not true.”
She turned to look at him over her shoulder.
“Isn’t it?”
“Rebekah – "
“So many times, on the island, you got up in the night when you thought I was asleep and went up and down the beach, up and down it. And I knew you were thinking about ways to hurt him, to get back at him – I could tell by the way you were walking, like your legs had turned to wood. I think this means more to you than I do.”
“That’s rubbish,” he sighed, but a little voice said is it? Is it?
“Although I don’t suppose I mean much to you now anyway,” she said, and began to cry softly.
Nick rolled on to his back angrily, feeling the gap between the beds beneath him.
“On the island,” he said, and stopped. He felt the anger rolling through him. “At the beginning, when things were at their worst, that was all that kept me going. The chance that I might be able to set things right.”
“And what about me?”
He paused.
“That was later.”
“I wish I’d got to you first,” she said, her voice thick with misery.
And, in the dark, staring at the ceiling of their room, part of Nick wished she had too.
Or more accurately, he wished he’d let her.
◆◆◆
CHAPTER 13
It took two days for the passports to arrive.
Nick had never known such speedy service, and put it down to Yilmaz's influence. They spent the time wandering the streets of Victoria Town, taking in the museum, and the galleries, and the bars, and once even took a trip up one of the mountains, where they were rewarded with an incredible view of the entirety of the capital city, spread out before them like a detailed model. It was beautiful, it was breath taking, but Nick could not seem to enjoy it.
He knew why. In one of the galleries they visited, a rough stick figure had been forged out of steel, of a man pulling back on a bow, and Nick had thought yes, that’s me, not just the tension of the bow, but the ability to do harm. He could not seem to focus on anything. They’d all be doing something, laughing and joking, and he would go off, and somebody would have tap him on the shoulder and bring him back. He had waited two years for his revenge, surely two more days wouldn’t hurt, but he found it almost impossible to stand it, the hanging around, the waiting. He thought the others were aware of his tension, his restlessness. In the corner of his eye he was always able to catch the pale worried blob of Rebekah’s face. He wanted to get started. This was just delay. Intermission.
The day before the passports arrived, Rebekah bought some hair dye, and he felt curiously mothered as she washed his hair, leaning over the bath with a towel around his shoulders, and it wasn’t necessarily unpleasant.
Later, when they went out, Agathe seemed to be the one most shocked by the transformation.
She shook her head.
“I do not like it,” she said. “With your dark hair...your face was kind. Now your face looks...” She flapped her hand in the air, searching for the word.
“Hard,” Rebekah said knowingly, and Nick looked at her sharply, but couldn’t read the expression on her face.
While they waited, Yilmaz arranged to have investigators check out their three suspects, as well as the state of Mitchell Cole, and the investigation in to Nick’s supposed death, which would be ready for them, they were assured, when they arrived in England.
◆◆◆
Yilmaz passed Nick his new passport as they were drinking in the hotel bar.
Nick opened it up, curious despite himself to examine this bit of intrigue. He didn’t want to think about how illegal it was.
There was his photo alright, with his new blonde haircut. And next to that his new name.
“Stephen Sommers?” Nick asked, frowning.
Yilmaz spread his hands.
“These things are not perfect. It was the name that was available. I am told that it is a German name. My contact is German. But this will do, will it not?”
Nick studied it some more, and then put it in his pocket.
“It’s fine.”
◆◆◆
Nick expected trouble in the airport…which they didn't have.
He waited for the metal detector to go off when Rebekah stepped through it, but when it didn't, he was surprised.
She saw the look.
"What?"
He shrugged.
"Nothing. But a question just got answered."
"Which question?"
He stopped her and reached up to smooth the hair away from the scar.
It was there, a white line etched in her scalp.
"On whether the bullet was still in there. Thank God it isn't."
She fingered the scar as they walked toward the gate.
Nick said, "we’ll need to get you to a doctor when we get back. You’ll need to have an X-ray.”
“I feel fine.”
“That’s good. But you’re still going for that X-ray.”
◆◆◆
Yilmaz had booked a flight for early in the morning, and the sun had just risen over the horizon when the plane began its hurtling acceleration down a runway built out in to the bay. At one point, from his window near the wing, Nick thought they were going to plunge into the sea, but the nose lifted, and in moments they were making a tortuous ascent toward the heavens.
Rebekah leaned over him to look out of the window, her eyes wide with delight.
They banked, circling above Victoria Town. Nick had never been afraid of flying before, but he clearly was now. He held on to the arms of his chair as if he was afraid the seat would abandon him at any moment. For some reason, it wasn’t so bad if he didn’t move his head, and with this in mind stared fixedly ahead of him.
“Look, you can see the Yilmaz’s boat,” Rebekah said, pointing. She sat back, sighed. “I loved Victoria. I’m going to miss it.”
“Uh-huh.”
Nick looked through the window out of the corner of his eye. Not a good idea.
“Are you alright?” Rebekah asked him, concerned.
“Yep. Sure. Fine. Just fine.”
He smiled weakly.
She took one of his hands in hers and for some reason that made him feel better.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Twelve hours and we’ll be home.”
“Christ,” he said, tightening up all over again.
◆◆◆
Gatwick was a bustling assault on the senses.
It was Rebekah’s turn to be afraid, and Nick delighted in comforting her, the tables turned at last. But it wasn’t long before Nick was suffering with a grinding headache, the aftermath of too much information going through too narrow a portal. All the people and the colours and the noise...When they eventually got their luggage and got out of there, the relief was almost palpable.
The chill in the air was equally as palpable; they weren’t dressed for it, and in a minute were shivering from the cold.
“Good old Blighty,” Nick said to Rebekah, and she rolled her eyes.
“I miss our island already,” she said.
“Really?” He said, and looked at her curiously.
There was a black limousine waiting for them at the curb, and the interior was pleasantly warm and blessedly quiet, and Nick sank in to his seat with a sigh, thankful for the respite.
“We will stay at my hotel in Bristol,” Yilmaz informed them, as the limousine pulled in to traffic. “It is only small hotel, but good.” He turned to Rebekah. “You do not have to leave us yet, no? You will be my guest for some time more?”
Rebekah made a face, looked briefly at Nick.
“Well...alright. But only for a couple of days. I really need to get back to my aunt.”
“Yes. Good,” Yilmaz said, nodding.
They were all strangely silent for the duration of the car journey. Tired, Nick supposed. Rebekah curled up against Nick and fell asleep, as did Kate in Agathe’s arms. Nick couldn’t sleep; his body was thrumming with tension. Occasionally Yilmaz would catch his eye, and seemed to be trying to convey something to him, some message, but its meaning eluded Nick. His eyes looked haunted.
◆◆◆
Maybe he didn’t understand the word small, Nick finally concluded.
The Questada was within walking distance of the centre, not much further up the hill from the Bristol Royal Infirmary. Nick had to crane his neck back to see all of it. He guessed maybe twenty floors, and then thought, if Yilmaz considers this small, how big is his biggest hotel? Vegas big? The lobby had a marble floor, and small statues in little niches around its edges, venetian busts and torsos. Very Greek, Nick thought. Bodies bustled busily about them, taking luggage, and the manager escorted them to the top floor, the penthouse suite no less.
“Wow,” Rebekah said, as they entered.
More marble flooring up here, at least in the hall from the front door, and Nick found that it ran all the way past the small kitchen area to where the split level dropped, and then changed to black tiles. On the tiles were leather sofas and armchairs, situated around a white, Mediterranean style double sided fireplace in the centre of the room, the chimney going up through the roof. On the wall to Nick’s right a forty inch flat screen TV had been hung. Nick could also see rooms leading off the main lounge, a study, and down a hall what he presumed were bedrooms.
“You like?” Yilmaz said grinning, and did not need a reply from the expressions on their faces.
“God,” Rebekah said, out of earshot of Yilmaz and his family. Yilmaz had wandered down to the bedrooms and disappeared. “I feel like royalty.”
Nick smiled.
“Queen Bek.”
“Something like that.”
It was as she was looking around, taking it all in, that a yawn overtook her.
“Bone cracker,” Nick said.
She nodded.
“I’m so tired,” she said.
“You can’t be tired. You slept the whole car journey here.”
“I know.” She couldn’t believe it herself. “Must be jetlag.” She studied him. “Aren’t you tired?”
“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “Wide awake.”
“Hm.” She looked sceptical.
Agathe came to them, smiling.
“Would you like a drink? Something to eat?” She asked.
She was too good a hostess, Nick thought; she made him feel vaguely guilty for waiting on him so diligently.
He shook his head and Rebekah said, “thank you, Agathe, but we’re fine. Truth be told, I just want to sleep. And I expect you do as well. You should get yourself to bed.”
“Yes. I will do. If you will excuse. I will show Rebekah to her room, and then I shall sleep myself. This is good, yes?”
She seemed to want his permission, so Nick said, “I don’t blame you. You must be tired. I think I’m going to watch some TV.”
“If Yilmaz will let you,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “He does not like television. Except for business channels.”
“Then why does he have such a big TV?” Rebekah asked, indicating the unignorable plasma screen.
Agathe shrugged and gave them a curious smile.
“Men. They are grown, but they still like the toys.”
Rebekah smiled sidelong at Nick and said, “I know what you mean.”
“Just go to bed, will you,” Nick said to Rebekah, in mock anger. “All travelling does is make you cranky.”
Rebekah laughed, reached up, kissed him on the cheek, and Agathe showed her to her room.
◆◆◆
“Are you ready?” Yilmaz said as he returned to the lounge, the women gone to bed.
Nick was confused.
“Ready?”
“The investigators have now the information for us to see. We shall go to their offices, not so far from here. Come.”
He followed Yilmaz out of the penthouse suite, down to the elevators, through the lobby and out to the limousine waiting at the curb.
“Do you travel everywhere by limousine?” Nick asked.
Yilmaz grunted unhappily.
“No. I am preferring to drive. But Agathe does not like me driving.”
“Why not?”
Yilmaz shook his head as if it was an incredible mystery.
“I do not know. She says I am driving too fast, but this is nonsense. I am good driver.”
“Ah,” Nick said. “She’s just worried about you.”
“Yes.” Yilmaz looked irked by the idea. “But too much worry becomes – how you say? – very tight, like you are wearing a dog collar, yes? I have only driven for forty years, my friend. Forty years. That is older than you, yes? And Agathe worries. This does not make sense to me. I cannot understand.”
“That’s women.”
“Yes. Yes, this is so.”
◆◆◆
The limousine glided smoothly and silently along roads that, at times, were perhaps a little too narrow and twisting for it. Britain’s roads hadn’t been designed for such a sprawling, ostentatious vehicle.
They stopped at a non-descript office building just beyond Old Market. Nick got out and looked up at it, a ten storey grey building like any other, that should have been home to accountants and surveyors, not private investigators.
The lobby was also non-descript and grey, and the man behind the reception desk, in a grey suit, glasses, and expensively cut hair also seemed to fit the overall general description.
They were told that Dunn and Field were on the fifth floor, and were directed toward the lifts in the far right corner. They were both quiet on the trip up in the lift, Nick nervous and excited at the same time, all of this tinged with a patina of fear. He wasn’t sure he wanted to learn what they had to tell him. He was gripped with a sudden urge to bolt, that whatever he was going to do hadn’t yet started, and if he wanted to get out he could get out now, no harm done, it wasn’t so bad to just want to turn your back on everything and start again, but a familiar voice spoke up in the back of his mind, and it took him a few moments to realised it was Toad. So. He was still with him. Would he always be with him? No, not if he could get this done. Are you
a coward? Toad asked, getting angry. Are you are a coward that is scared of Mike Ross? And then Nick knew that he couldn’t stop what he had started. Toad wouldn’t let him.
Frank Dunn was not what Nick had expected. Maybe too many bad detective novels had tinged his imagination, but Nick had expected a wise eyed, chain smoking, dark hulk of a man in a Trilby and a trench coat. Frank Dunn looked nothing like that. He was short, running to fat, wore an expensive charcoal grey suit, had glasses, a grey moustache, and only a few wisps of grey hair on his cherubic pink scalp. He looked more like a proficient accountant than a chain smoking private detective.
And he talked like an accountant too.
“Mr Karipidis,” Dunn said in a soft cultured voice, getting up from his chair and indicating the two black leather chairs on the opposite side of the desk for his guests. “So good to finally meet you. And Mr Sommers...” Dunn indicated the other chair, and smiling cheerfully said, “a pleasure. If you would be so kind?”
Nick had to think for a moment before he realised that he was now Stephen Sommers. He took the chair and nodded curtly at Dunn, thinking perhaps that if he said nothing Dunn would have no reason to think that he was anybody but Stephen Sommers.
Dunn had a number of tan folders on the desk in front of him and opened the top one and began flicking through it.
“We had enough time to do an initial assessment of each of your candidates. I have prepared copies for you each to take with you and read at your leisure. A more detailed assessment will take more time, but the time could be halved if, after reading the files perhaps, you could narrow the parameters of the search.” He flicked through more pages, then arranged them neatly around him, folded his hands on the desk and looked at them both. “I am conversant enough with the files to give you a brief summary if you wish.” He looked at them both and Yilmaz waved for him to continue. “Um, Michael Ross,” Dunn began. “Forty three years of age, unmarried, no siblings, no children. Six points on his driving license, both penalties for speeding. A conviction for aggravated assault now twenty five years old. Commendations from his time in the Navy.”
“What was the aggravated assault?” Nick asked.
