No Peace For The Wicked

Chapter 34

Breakfast at the Villa Almedina the following morning was a subdued affair. While Doug, Gary and Howie checked the villa’s perimeters and cleaned their weapons, Mitcheson, Lottie Grossman and McManus were on the patio. McManus had arrived earlier in the Cessna via Malaga, and was in a sour mood. His anger at not being able to find Riley Gavin was aimed openly at John Mitcheson.

“Seems to me she was tipped the wink,” he growled, ripping open a bread roll and spreading it thickly with red jam.

Mitcheson said nothing. There was little to be gained by having an argument with the man, and even Lottie Grossman seemed irritated by McManus’s constant sniping on the subject. She had also made it clear he no longer answered to her ailing husband. He had taken the news with ill grace, but said nothing. Even he must have known Ray Grossman was no longer capable of running things.

Mitcheson also knew that Lottie Grossman was capable of swinging suddenly and violently against himself, and he didn’t need that kind of aggravation just yet; she’d simply set McManus on him without warning.

What she said next, however, came as a shock.

“When you’ve finished your breakfast,” she told McManus pointedly, pushing a slip of folded paper across the table towards him, “that’s the hotel the Gavin woman gave when she was arrested. Go get her.”

“Where is it?” Mitcheson was alarmed but managed to keep his voice casual. He could feel the heat in his temples and wondered how he could stop this happening. McManus had only one way of dealing with a person, and it didn't involve much in the way of talk.

“You don’t need to know,” snapped Lottie. “He’s quite capable.”

McManus tucked the slip of paper into his breast pocket, flicking a snide smile at Mitcheson. “Easy-peasy,” he breathed. Coming from his lips, the childish comment seemed to take on an obscene tone Mitcheson had never known before.

“Find somewhere to keep her out of sight, then let us know you’ve got her, you understand?” Lottie instructed him. “And don’t do anything else. I don't want anything rebounding on us back here.”

“I can lose her for good if you want,” McManus countered. “Like Bignell.”

“No.” Lottie was adamant. “Bignell was a one-off. This isn’t our turf and now’s not the time to take chances. Just keep her out of our way until I decide what to do with her.”

“No problem.” He smiled nastily and looked pointedly at Mitcheson. “I’ll make sure she’s nice and comfortable, don’t you worry.”

“Why not bring her back here and talk to her?” suggested Mitcheson. He resisted the temptation to pick up a bread knife and drive it into the other man’s eye.

“Forget it.” Lottie pushed her cup away and impatiently brushed crumbs off her fingers. “Just neutralise her. Isn’t that the term you use?”

Mitcheson shrugged while McManus drained his coffee cup and left, wiping his mouth on his hand.

Lottie Grossman watched him go and turned to look at Mitcheson. “He’s an unpleasant, uncultured slob,” she said to him, “But he’s given years of good service to my husband. A bit like that Rottweiler the Moroccans killed.” She smiled thinly. “I don’t want you two busting each other’s balls all the time, do you understand me?”

He decided the safest way of getting through the day without throttling this old witch was to play along with her, so he nodded agreement and asked: “What’s on the cards for today?”

“Another meeting with Segassa. This time in Malaga — and with someone who can negotiate directly.” She smiled and patted Mitcheson’s hand, her earlier anger forgotten as though it had never occurred. “We don’t do middle-men anymore. Especially now they’ve seen what my men can do.”

Mitcheson felt a momentary irritation at how his men had suddenly become hers, but said nothing. He doubted Doug, Howie or Gary would care much who they reported to as long as they got paid. Where it might backfire was if this woman expected too much of them without realising the possible consequences. They were good but they weren’t fireproof.

“Where do you want it to happen?”

“I hear the Hotel Palacio’s good for meetings,” Lottie said.

Mitcheson glanced at her to see if there was any significance in her choice of words, but her head was angled so the sun reflected off her glasses, giving no hint of the expression in her eyes. He chose to believe it was just coincidence and nodded calmly.

“I’ve already had Gary arrange it,” Lottie continued, “for just after lunch. I want everyone there, but keep two of your men outside in reserve.” She looked at him. “I don’t trust those Moroccans, even in a public place.”

McManus watched them from inside the villa and scowled. His suspicions about Mitcheson were increasing all the time, not least fuelled by bitterness at his changing role in the Grossman organisation. There was a time when the only other person they included in their plans was himself. But that was in the days when Ray Grossman was in charge… when there was a proper respect for him. The sort of respect that meant he never had to pick up a bill, never had to fight for a parking space, never had to sit at home wondering what to do for entertainment.

Now this soldier boy and his mates had their feet under the table and his resentment and bitterness bubbled up like a poison. His thoughts turned to the Gavin woman and what he would do when he found her. He knew Lottie would have his balls if he overstepped instructions, so he’d have to be careful. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a bit of fun. He recalled the photos he’d found in her flat. Ripe looking woman. Looked like she’d strip down well. Maybe fight a bit, too, if he was lucky.

The sooner he picked her up the better. First he had to think of somewhere to hold her, like Lottie wanted. Somewhere nobody would look. Then he could find a deep hole to put her in. Because that’s where she’d end up eventually, no matter what Lottie might be saying now. He knew a building site where they were sinking pilings for a block of flats, and right next to a place where he could hold her, too. Easy stuff. He grinned, proud of himself, and walked out of the room and along the corridor past the bedrooms. He paused at Ray Grossman’s door and looked in.

The nurse was in there giving the poor old bastard a wash-down. He could just see a bowl and a large tube of gel on the side of the bed. The sickly smell of roses filled the air. There was a grunting sound as the nurse struggled to move Grossman’s body and the slick noise of soap on skin. McManus swore silently to himself that he’d never go through that. What a scummy thing to endure, he thought. Like a baby. I’d sooner put a bullet through my skull.

He thought about making a call to the hotel where the Gavin woman was staying. Check she was in. Better than going out there and finding she’d already flown. As he passed Mitcheson’s room on the way to the hall, he spotted a mobile phone lying on the bed. The idea of using Mitcheson’s phone to track down the Gavin woman appealed to his sense of fairness.

He was about to dial when he noticed a message symbol flashing on the display. His in-built suspicions about the former soldier got the better of him. He punched the button and waited while the recorded voice went through its patter. There was a buzz of static and what sounded like a burst of distant laughter in the background, then a woman’s voice spoke.

“John? It’s Riley… I need to see you… it’s urgent. Can we meet? Not in the same place as last time — it’s too public.”

McManus listened as Riley Gavin suggested somewhere called the Ascona along the coast road at midday tomorrow. She said goodbye and the recorded voice told him the message had been left at eight the previous evening. He checked the address on the slip of paper Lottie had given him. It wasn’t the Ascona, so they must have moved. Never mind — he’d find it. Couldn’t be too hard, could it?

He was about to delete the message but decided against it. Better if he left it so Mitcheson could find it later. When he saw how close he might have been to warning the Gavin bitch off, it would kill him. He grinned and switched off the phone, then went back into the living room and dumped it behind a cushion. There you are soldier boy, he thought maliciously. By the time you get the message, she’ll just be a memory.