A Time For Justice (58 page)

At the table were four others beside Corelli. Stanton, the
bodyguard; Lucas, the man most likely to replace Hinksman; and two
British businessmen who seemed rather cowed and overawed by the
illustrious Italian. They had been thoroughly searched by Stanton
and Lucas prior to being allowed to sit down. They were
clean.

Specific business was discussed over the main course. This was
one of the few public places where Corelli occasionally conducted
his affairs. Over dessert and coffee they chatted about things in
general.

After a pause in conversation, one of the Brits cleared his
throat and began rather hesitantly, ‘They say you had three FBI
operatives silenced recently.’

Stanton stiffened. He looked quickly at his boss. Was this a
subject that could be discussed - or was it taboo? Corelli raised a
calming hand, indicating he did not mind. Stanton
relaxed.

‘
People say many things,’ Corelli said
mysteriously.

‘
If it is true, we are very impressed,’ said Brit number
two.

‘
Occasionally the authorities need to know where they
stand.’

‘
They were three troublesome people,’ Corelli said. ‘As it
happens,’ he went on, ‘I did not have them silenced, I had them
executed. ‘

The two Brits laughed nervously.

‘
I was judge and jury,’ Corelli said, ‘and Mr Lucas here was
executioner. ‘

Lucas raised a glass. The two Brits felt their anal passages
tighten and contract, but managed a smile each.

‘
I propose a toast,’ said Corelli, picking up his own glass.
‘To the FBI and law-enforcement officers the world over: may they
continue to be so bad at the administration of justice.’

Everyone laughed and raised their glasses.

No one at the table paid any particular heed to the woman who
entered the restaurant at that moment and walked towards them,
snaking her way between tables. She was tall, elegant and walked
like a model; swaying hips, confidence. Sass.

She was very well dressed in a blouse and tight mini-skirt
which showed off her long tanned, shapely legs. She had a green
silk scarf tied around her head and wore a pair of dark
glasses.

Neither did they pay any attention to the skinny black girl
who had been eating at a table with her back to them. Similarly
attired to the first woman, she rose slowly from her
seat.

The woman who had walked into the restaurant held a small
purse delicately in front of her. She went straight up to Corelli’s
party and smiled. Her blouse was tight-fitting and made of sheer
silk which showed her generous breasts at their best. Her nipples
were erect and she was breathing shortly, almost panting, as though
she was excited.

‘
Mr Corelli?’ she asked.

Lucas became alert. Corelli laid a finger on his sleeve to
check him. He smiled up at the woman, somewhat distracted by the
figure. ‘Yes, what can I do for you?’

Slowly she removed her scarf and allowed it to waft gently to
the floor. She took her sunglasses off, folded them deliberately
and slid them into her bag, keeping her hand inside.

‘
You sent me a letter a while ago,’ she said.

Corelli saw the ravages of the first stages of plastic surgery
all the way up one side of her face. He was repelled and his face
showed it. ‘And then you killed my man, Joe Kovaks.’

The hand in her purse came out holding the .32 calibre Smith
& Wesson revolver.

Lucas began to make for his gun.

Stanton went for his too.

The Brits sat rigid, somewhere in the middle of all
this.

The gun in the woman’s hand swung quickly in Corelli’s
direction. His eyes widened. He dropped his fork, tried to
cower.

Lucas’s gun was partly out. He was very fast.

Stanton cursed. His gun was stuck.

Corelli’s eyes grew wider. His mouth opened to shout
something. He had nowhere to go.

Neither Stanton nor Lucas saw the black girl wheel round from
her table. Held low in her hands was a double-barrelled sawn-off
shot-gun which she’d smuggled in underneath her top coat. She held
it like a professional.

The Smith & Wesson discharged all six shots into Corelli’s
head in rapid succession, the trigger being yanked back in a
frenzied, jerking movement. A bigger gun would have caused too much
recoil in her hand for full control, but the relatively small
calibre meant that, despite the anger, it was easy for her to
ensure complete accuracy.

Corelli’s head twisted grotesquely as the bullets whacked into
him. One right in the centre of the forehead, two into the temple,
one directly through his left eye and the final two in his face on
either side of his nose.

The first barrel from the shot-gun took most of Lucas’s head
off. The blast toppled him backwards over his chair into the wall
behind - already splattered with his brains; the second barrel
removed most of Stanton’s right shoulder which exploded as if an
ounce of Semtex had been inserted in the joint.

The restaurant erupted in a whirlwind of panic.

Corelli was dead, slumped horribly back in his chair, with the
last gasp of air gurgling out of his lungs in dribbling bubbles of
blood.

The two women dropped their weapons and walked slowly through
the chaos, unchallenged, free, not looking anywhere but dead
ahead.

At Corelli’s table, the two Brits, petrified with fear, still
hadn’t moved.

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