By CLARE LONDON (21 page)

“He left you a message, Max.”

“Sorry?”

There was a confused moment when Jack and Bryan both scrabbled in the pocket of their jeans.

“Who’s got it?”

“Did you pick it up off the table?”

Finally Jack pulled out a folded piece of white paper and Bryan shrugged, returning his attention to the cheesy dregs of his snack. Jack passed me the note, a paper napkin from the bar. Above the Medina Group logo was scrawled “Meet me in the yard, Seve.”

“Did Seve give you this?”

Jack shook his head. “A girl from the bar just brought it over with a fresh bottle of bubbly.”

I peered at the note. Maybe he’d finished his business call earlier than expected, though I didn’t know why he hadn’t come over personally. I realized I had no idea what his handwriting looked like. Dammit, the list of things I didn’t know about him got longer by the minute. But I wanted that to change and I thought he did too.

“Max?” Jack looked like he wanted to say something else.

“I’ll just be a while,” I said. “Back soon.” The excitement at seeing Seve again was already thrumming through my veins in a completely different beat to the dance music. Jack let go of my arm and Bryan nodded to me. I grabbed my bottle of water and made my way in the opposite direction—across the dance floor. Louis was over by the music desk, dancing and laughing and sweating; his hair was damp and clinging to his cheeks. I waved at him but I wasn’t sure he saw me. I weaved through and beyond the dancers and over to the back exit.

There was a security guy near the door. He turned as I passed, watching me, but as before, no one stopped me. I pushed on the door and it opened easily. I stepped out into the cool night air.

THE first shock was that Seve wasn’t there. Second shock was that Peck was.

At the same time, I felt a sick kind of relief. I was proved right—he was still around and he was here, at Compulsion. I’d correctly identified him when I was ambushed in the park on my way home. He was probably the one following Seve—following us. Then the relief gave way to more sensible but colder fear. Hadn’t Seve said Peck had gone back to London?

The door swung quietly shut behind me, the noise of the club cut off as if by a sharp knife. I glanced around to see if Peck had his thugs with him, but he seemed to be alone. He just stood there, looking at me. He was smoking but the cigarette had barely burned down—he’d only been here for a short while.

“Not keen on the club, Max? Far as I remember, you used to like the company. And the booze too.” He was surprisingly well-spoken, though his words had the truncated consonants of a familiar London accent. He was shorter than I was but much heavier. His thick muscled limbs gave him a slow waddle when he walked, but I knew from bitter experience how fast he could move when he had to—and how hard his fists were. He was dressed in a sober black suit with a thick Crombie-style overcoat. No security badge on his lapel, but I assumed he didn’t need it. No one would mistake that hulk for one of the dancers.

“I’m not drinking,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows. “Using?”

“That neither.”

He laughed. It was obvious he didn’t believe a word of it. “I realized it was you in the park that night. Didn’t put two and two together when I heard the boss’s kid was fucking someone new. But something made me join the others that night, and I’m glad I did.” His smile was a sneer. “Always good to meet old friends, right?”

“So that’s your idea of Saturday night fun? Beating up random guys?”

He laughed again. “Alvaro Medina doesn’t like his kid seeing anyone too seriously, you know? And I agree. It’s bad for our business. The kid’s been….” He waved his hand as if searching for the right word. “Distracted, since you two started screwing.”

What the hell? “So he told you to attack me?” I remembered Alvaro Medina was the name of Seve’s uncle.

Peck shrugged, his coat shifting on his wide shoulders. “Just a polite warning, that’s all. He’s happy for me to take the initiative when it’s needed.”

Holy fuck. Peck was running his own show down here just as much as he did in London. “Seve’s an adult. He can do what he damn well likes.”

Peck rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, as if he wasn’t even going to grace that with a reply. “You were never shy about the screwing, were you, Max? Plenty of times I found you in the khazi with your jeans around your ankles and some faggot on his knees with his face in your crotch. Or vice bloody versa.” Peck grimaced with distaste. “Fucking disgusting, if you ask me. But you never did ask me, did you? Went your own way. Thought you knew best.”

“Fuck off, Peck.” I was amazed I kept my voice steady. “We’ve got nothing to say to each other.”

“You think?” He took a single step toward me and I felt my gut somersault. “I think we’ve got some unfinished business, Max. You left halfway through a job. You left without giving any bloody notice at all.”

I knew where the catch to the door was—I could dart back in if I moved quickly. But I didn’t think I could move at all at that moment: my legs seemed rooted to the spot. The memories of London all came flooding back, sharp, painful and ugly. An angry, sordid time. A cruel time, with Peck as supervisor of it all.

He dropped the cigarette and ground it out under his boot. “Why’d you leave, Max?” His voice was deceptively calm. “Why’d you run like some scared fucking rabbit?”

“Pension scheme wasn’t good enough,” I muttered. “Why do you care?”

“Because no one runs, Max. Not from me. Not until I fucking tell them to.”

I couldn’t think of any more snappy replies. Peck’s nasal breathing and my own harsh gulps were the most prominent sounds. The noise of the seafront traffic in the background was no more than a hum, and the rest of the world seemed very far away. Peck’s hands hung loosely at his sides, and I assumed he wasn’t armed. We weren’t in one of those ultra-violent London gangster movies, were we? This was real life. But that could still be just as shocking. And this was a confrontation I knew I’d been running from.

“It’s over,” I said and took a step back toward the door. “I’ve got nothing to do with that shit anymore.”

“Yeah?” Peck clasped his hands together and cracked a couple of knuckles. Maybe I was in one of those movies after all. “That’s not for you to say.”

“It is—”

“Not!” Peck growled, shocking me further. “You were one of mine, Max, and I needed you there. Now, if you’re expecting me to find you a place here instead—”

“What? No!” It was my turn to snap. “I quit, Peck. Totally. I’m out of the whole mess.”

He frowned at me. “Yeah, right. It doesn’t work that way. You still need it, Max. The money, the fun, the hits.”

No. “No!” My protest was hoarse and loud in the quiet yard. I couldn’t help seeing how vulnerable I was, yet I couldn’t let this drop. “That’s not me anymore. In London, back here… it’s not me.”

“Just words.” There was a tight edge to Peck’s voice. “I said you had a smart fucking mouth, didn’t I?”

“What you just said….” My head ached and I knew I should be running, not blabbing from that smart mouth of mine. “Asking me if I want a place here instead. What are you doing here?”

“Out of the whole mess,” he mimicked my higher voice. “That’s what you said. Change your mind?”

“Tell me,” I said urgently. “Are you planning on running the same racket here in Brighton? Is that why you’re here? So the Medinas can expand their business?”

“You should know. You’re fucking one of them. Don’t you perverts have pillow talk?”

I ignored the homophobia. I knew Peck wasn’t going to discover equal opportunity tolerance any time soon. “Seve oversees the club, that’s all.”

Peck laughed again, and really damn loud. “He’s the main man, Max. He’s family. Mr. Medina has high hopes for him. Why else do you think I have to keep parasites like you away from him?”

I can’t have kept my expression as clear as I’d hoped, because he laughed again.

“So there is pillow talk. Fuck me. You dirty bastards. So are you the bitch, Max? Are you the one takes him up the arse?”

“For fuck’s sake. That crap never worked on me before, Peck, what makes you think it will now?”

He peered at me. “Can’t believe your boyfriend hasn’t told you all about the plans. He was up in London earlier this week, didn’t you know? Seeing his uncle. Happy families, catching up.”

I felt genuinely nauseous. I really didn’t want to throw up in front of Peck, but I had to swallow hard to keep down the bile. “Just fuck off. I’m going. I quit then, and I’m not interested now.”

“Sharp mouth,” he repeated, then paused as if thinking something over. “Loose tongue too?”

There was a sudden pregnant silence between us. And then I realized what he was really after. He didn’t want me to work for him again; he wasn’t even looking for a punching bag for his gay bashing, though I was sure he’d make an exception for me. No, he wanted to find out if I was a danger to him—if I’d reported it all. If I’d turned Honest Citizen. He didn’t know I’d just kept my head down and hid. Or rather, I had until now.

“You were there that night, weren’t you?”

“What the fuck?”

I shook my head impatiently. He knew exactly what I meant. Astonishingly, I found myself moving toward him and my hands balling into fists. No way would I come out of it with all my limbs intact if I went head to head with Peck. My body just seemed to be running ahead of my common sense. “Baz was working for you, wasn’t he? Maybe he still is. Did you send him after Stewart?”

“Who the fuck’s Stewart?” But awareness was flickering in his small eyes. “One of your pathetic bum buddies?”

I knew in that instant that Peck had definitely been behind the attack on Stewart. “He was stirring up trouble, wasn’t he? So you got rid of him.”

Peck shrugged again. “No fucking idea what you’re going on about. But I’ve got no time for tossers who are in the way. Who threaten me and mine.” He snapped his fingers as if to illustrate how easily he’d deal with that. He didn’t need to say more. One snap… one knife… one fatal wound. I bit back a groan.

Peck had been watching my approach with narrowed eyes. “You tempted to do something rash, Max? You want me to make a better job of it than last time?” His eyes glinted. “You think I ought to take out that loose tongue for good?”

“I didn’t go to the police,” I said. “But I will.”

“Yeah? You think they’ll believe a word you say?”

I wasn’t going to tell him what I knew, what evidence I might have. My silence frustrated him.

“What are you, after all? A courier, a dealer, a user. A street kid, a dosser. You’ll be in the shit before they even question anyone else. You think Mr. Medina won’t protect his own? He has plenty of fancy-arse lawyers for just this reason.”

I shrugged. I was trying to show a hell of a lot of confidence I didn’t really have.

Peck bit his lower lip. His knuckles were whitening. “And so what if you take that insane little fucker down with you. I couldn’t give a shit. He’s becoming more trouble than he’s worth.”

So Baz was still around. Deranged, dangerous little Baz. For a moment, hope flared in me. I could take him to the cops, get him to confess to killing Stewart. To tell them about Peck. I had no doubt that Baz knew even more of what went on than I did. Then I remembered the kid’s weird darting eyes and fractured speech, and I knew it wasn’t going to happen.

Peck rolled his shoulders and widened his stance. He leaned forward, and his grin at me was more of a snarl. Things were decidedly colder out here now. I’d played my only card and probably too early and too rashly. But then I’d never been any good at poker.

Time to move.

I took three loping steps backward and threw myself at the exit door, expecting the momentum to push me on through the opening doorway and into the warm, suffocating safety of the club. But the lock never moved. My right side thudded heavily against the door, and it never shifted a bloody inch. Instead, the leap knocked the breath out of me and I sank clumsily to my knees on the cold ground, crumpling down like a broken toy. My whole body was jarred, every nerve shocked.

I could hear Peck laughing behind me. “Got new security arrangements now, Max. All private doors lock from the inside. Health and Safety regulations, you know.”

I wheezed painfully and lurched up onto my knees. My right arm was numb and the rest of my body was shaking with a healthy side order of fear. Louis would be bloody disappointed if I spoilt his birthday party by ending up dead in a backyard.

Peck crouched down a few feet from me, near enough so I could see him but just outside my reach. “Feel better for that little drama? I’d love to stay for an encore, but I’ve got more important things to do. I’ve explained the important facts to you, so you know what’s in your best interests. Keep your mouth shut and stay away from the Medinas. If you can’t manage that….” He held out his hands, palms upward. “I’ll have to come back and visit you again, won’t I? A proper little Friends Reunited it’ll be.”

He stood, towering over me. He nudged at me with his boot—just trying out the feel of it, I guess—then he reached over and tapped three times on the door. It opened from the inside and the music blared out.

“Get the fuck out of here, Max. And stay out of our business. You talk like some kind of gangster movie, but things are professional nowadays, you know. Mr. Medina’s got standards and strategies and proper business advisors. And a loyal family too.” He leaned down, and his spit dribbled onto my cheek. “And no sniveling arse bandit is going to bother me. Got it?”

One last kick, and I nodded that I’d got it. He stepped over me and walked into the club. I heard him laughing until the door snapped shut again.

Things were really cold out here tonight.

IT WAS nearly 1:00 a.m. and I was at the Sussex Square house where Seve’s flat was, pressing every damned buzzer on the entry intercom that I could find. My body was still shaken from the impact of the door at the club, which had resurrected the barely recovered pain in my ribs. Fuck, I thought, it’s only pain. Of more importance were the fear—and the anger.