Dead if You Don’t

105

Sunday 13 August

17.00–18.00

Inside Unit 26, Jorgji Dervishi listened, smiling, to the sound of the motorbike roaring away into the distance. He puffed hard on his cigar and blew out two perfect smoke rings in succession. Then he turned to Ylli Prek and handed him the number of the phone Dritan Nano had in his breast pocket.

‘Wait until he is well away. Ten — better fifteen minutes. I tell you when to send the three texts.’

‘He is not coming back here?’ Prek asked. ‘Not texting you when he has done what you told him?’

‘That’s right, you got it in one,’ Dervishi said. He blew another perfect smoke ring.