Recoil

7

We drove towards the town in Standish’s blue saloon. Crucial was at the wheel, Sam beside him.

We passed a parked-up red Punto. Crucial pointed. ‘Our hire car. We’ll need to pick it up as soon as we sort this shit out. I don’t want a ticket.’ He thought that was very funny.

Sam turned and leaned back to face me. ‘Everything squared away with Giuseppe?’

‘Yep.’ I ripped open the Jiffy-bag.

‘What’s the score now? It’s your neighbourhood.’

‘We’ll wait until it’s dark enough to dump the shit-heads in the lake. I’m sure they’ll find a few Mafia boys at the bottom to make friends with. We burn the car out – no DNA – then take yours back to Zürich and I say goodbye.’

‘You sure you don’t want to come with us?’

‘Sure.’

‘Then have some of this cash. You’ll need something to set you up.’

I sat back and laughed as I ripped open the Jiffy-bag. ‘What the fuck do you think I was doing this for? Just to fund you two dickheads?’

Crucial laughed away and I could see The Little and Large Show twinkling in the rear-view mirror.

‘I reckon five hundred apiece for me and Giuseppe, and two mill each for you and Mercy Flight. How’s that sound?’

We drove along the palm-shaded Riva Albertolli. Everything felt all right. It felt complete, sorted out.

But there was still a question Sam wanted an answer to as much as I did. ‘Come on, then, what’s in that envelope?’

I pulled out several sheets of paper. I had a quick leaf through and almost fell into the footwell.

The first three were speeding tickets from the London cameras.

The fourth was a fine for not paying the congestion charge.

And the rest were parking tickets I’d been getting every day for the fucking moped at Lugano station.

I threw them on to the seat next to the cheese and Branston and started to laugh.