THE DOMINO BOYS (a psychological thriller) (19 page)

She stowed away the camera into her holdall. ‘That’s OK, don’t worry. I’ve got all that I need.’

‘Remember, make me look good,’ he said.

‘No problem. And don’t forget,’ she said as he escorted her to the door, ‘we have a date sometime. You’ve got my number. Call me.’

‘You bet I won’t forget,’ he replied enthusiastically.

‘The article will be in next week’s paper. The editor’s in a hurry to get it in as quickly as possible.’

‘I look forward to reading it.’

She leant forward and gave him a light peck on the cheek. ‘See you soon, eh?’ Her perfume was strong and intoxicating.

‘It’s a date,’ he said.

He watched her car drive away and went back inside to find Roche. He was waiting for him with a leather case. Craddick took it from him and opened it. It was packed with high-denomination notes. The smell of money was as strong and as intoxicating as Susie’s perfume, he mused. Better in fact.

‘Need I count it?’

‘No, Mr Craddick. A full hundred thousand. I counted it for you.’

He snapped the case shut. ‘The game’s on. Do you know the Henderson sewing machine factory west of Rotherham?’

‘Not sure but I can easily find out. Is that where we’re going?’

‘Ginetta’s meeting me there in one hour. Take me to it. He insists we can’t be armed either, so ditch the weapons.’

‘Don’t know if I like that, Mr Craddick,’ he said.

‘Me neither. So make sure I’ve got a gun stashed in the glove compartment of the car, just in case.’

‘Will do.’

‘And Roche, when this is all done with, I’m of the mind that I want Camellia to disappear completely, in tiny bits if necessary. No body, not a scrap of her to be found. Can you do that?’

He nodded. ‘Sure, Mr Craddick.’

‘I don’t want anyone to trace her disappearance back to me. Do you understand?’

‘It’s as good as done. There’s a sinkhole that opened up on the site of the disused coalmine. It’s filled with slurry, God knows how deep. Nobody goes there anymore and it’s been fenced off for years till they decide what to do with it. There’s talk of developing the area for housing, if they can clean up the pollution and the land’s deemed safe enough to build on, but they’ve been saying that for years apparently. Even if it was developed they’d fill the pit in as part of the work. Camellia’s body would never be found one way or the other. Let’s say it comes highly recommended by your father.’ He chuckled as if playing over a fond memory.

‘See to it. I’ll pay you well for your services.’

‘Thanks, Mr Craddick.’

Craddick eyed the man as he walked away. I’ll pay you well, all right, he thought acidly. Pay you for opening your big mouth to Camellia about the death of Marcus. I can see through your game, you backstabbing toad.

He sighed. What with his absconded minders and an untrustworthy right-hand man, it was proving true - you just couldn’t get the staff these days.

*  *  *  *

The factory stood like a bleak monument to past prosperity. Empty, shattered, its blackened brick walls crumbling, its windows smashed and staring out onto the deserted industrial landscape like empty sockets in an ancient skull. The BMW bounced along the rough concrete yard, past the faded and weathered sign that warned of security guards and guard dogs. Nothing much to guard now, thought Donnie Craddick, the case of money sitting heavy on his lap. He pulled down the cover on the glove compartment to check the gun was there. He was conscious of Roche glancing at him from the corner of his eye. He’d checked it twice already. Roche was looking nervous too. He’d started to sweat. He could see it glistening on his forehead and smell it in the stagnant air inside the car.

‘Apparently they used to make clothes for all the big retailers here,’ said Roche. ‘But they can get it done cheaper in sweatshops in India now.’

‘I don’t need an economics lecture, Roche,’ he said. He knew the man was talking because he was feeling uneasy. Had he picked up on his intentions to get rid of Roche after this was done? So what if he had? Let him stew. Let him sweat.

‘That must be them,’ said Roche, nodding towards a car parked beside rusted shutters. A man stepped out of the car. Craddick recognised him. It was the Ginetta’s silent bull of a minder.

‘Pull over,’ said Craddick.

They parked at the side of the car. Craddick checked the glove compartment, thought about taking the gun out and slipping it into his pocket.

‘I wouldn’t, Mr Craddick,’ Roche warned. ‘You don’t want to jeopardise things.’

He slammed it shut. ‘I can make up my own mind, Roche,’ he said, flinging open the car door. ‘Take me to your leader,’ he said to Ginetta’s minder.

The man pointed. ‘Open the case first.’ Craddick did so, turned it to face him. The minder seemed satisfied. ‘I’ve gotta search you too,’ he said.

‘I’m not packing heat,’ Craddick returned.

‘Packing heat?’ The man grinned. ‘You’ve seen too many movies.’ He stepped forward, frisked Craddick. ‘You’re clean. Now your monkey.’

‘Cut it, gobshite,’ said Roche. But he held up his arms and the man searched him.

‘OK, follow me,’ said the minder.

They were taken deep into the old factory. It reeked of damp, of stagnant water and powdered concrete. Their feet crunched on glass as they manoeuvred carefully around tangled mounds of abandoned wire and electric cabling. More cables hung from the high ceiling, like black serpents patiently waiting for passing prey. The minder opened a metal door and they entered a large empty space. Empty except for a stack of wooden crates and Roberto Ginetta standing by them casually smoking a cigar. The cloud of cigar smoke hung languid and wraithlike over his head. He lifted his arm, looked at his watch.

‘Bang on time, Mr Craddick,’ he said. ‘Your manners improve day by day. And manners maketh the man, do they not?’

‘Cut the bullshit, Mr Ginetta. Is that my money?’

‘Patience is not one of your virtues, Mr Craddick. So unlike your father. Did you know he was a keen fisherman? I’ll bet you didn’t. He’d sit for hours on the banks of a river waiting for a bite. They say he would never leave until he had one, even if it meant staying out the entire night. Now that’s patience to be proud of, and something you can learn from, Mr Craddick.’

‘I don’t need to learn anything from my father. I’m my own man. Is that my money?’

He stubbed the cigar out on one of the crates. ‘Is that
my
money?’ Ginetta said, nodding at the case in Craddick’s hand.

‘Yes.’

‘One hundred thousand?’

‘All of it.’

Ginetta nodded so slow that it was difficult to determine if he was nodding at all. ‘Let me see it.’ He held out his hand.

Donnie Craddick was reluctant. ‘Not till I see mine first.’

Ginetta gave an impatient sigh. ‘If we are to work closely together, Mr Craddick, you really must show a little trust.’ He turned and lifted a lid off one of the crates. It was filled with money. He took out a wad, tossed it at Craddick, who fumbled the catch and nearly dropped it. Ginetta signalled for his minder to bring him the case. Ginetta opened the it, peered briefly inside. ‘I won’t count it, of course,’ he said. ‘I will trust you.’

‘Enough with the games. I need to get my money out of here,’ said Craddick.

‘I have arranged for a truck to take it to wherever you want. Call it part of the service.’ He smiled, a faintly predatory affair. ‘But before we part, a word in your ear.’

‘I’m through talking.’

‘Believe me you’ll want to hear this.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Take both the case of money and Mr Roche outside for a moment,’ he said to his minder. ‘Make sure my money is safe.’ The burly minder nodded, grasped the case’s handle in his meaty paw.

‘Why does Roche have to leave?’ said Craddick.

‘Some things are meant only for the ears of the masters, not to be shared with the servants, are they not?’ He motioned with a ring-studded hand and the minder led Roche out of the room. The door clanged shut after them.

Craddick was feeling decidedly uneasy about the situation. He glanced nervously round the room. Beyond the crates, behind Ginetta, there was another door. Broken windows lined the wall to his left.

‘Let’s get this over with,’ said Craddick. ‘This place gives me the creeps.’

‘There are a few things you ought to hear first,’ said Ginetta. ‘Things you will find very interesting.’

‘Where are we going?’ said Roche as they retraced their steps for about twenty yards. The minder reached into his jacket pocket and Roche stiffened in fear. But all he pulled out was a large heavy envelope.

‘Your payment from Mr Ginetta,’ he said, handing it over. ‘As promised.’

Roche blew out a relieved breath. ‘All of it?’

‘You’re questioning Mr Ginetta?’ he said.

Roche ripped open the envelope, stared at the wad of notes inside. His eyes widened. ‘Would I question Ginetta?’ he said.

‘
Mr
Ginetta.’

‘Whatever,’ said Roche.

‘At this very moment my man is handing your Mr Roche an envelope crammed with my money,’ said Ginetta.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s accepting his wages.’

‘Stop fooling with me. What’s going on? What do you mean wages?’

‘Call this a first friendly lesson, Mr Craddick. From one business partner to another. It was your man Roche who led me to this money of yours. In fact he’s under the false impression that he will take over your territory on my behalf.’

‘You’re messing with me again.’

‘I mess not, Mr Craddick. He was more than willing to sacrifice you on the altar of his ambition and greed. It was my little test, you see. If we are to work together I can’t have any weak links in the chain. Steve Roche is a weak link.’

‘He’s played me like a fool!’ he burst, his face colouring. ‘I’ll kill the bastard!’

‘That’s a wise decision. Don’t worry about shifting the merchandise; I have contacts of my own. You don’t need Roche. But my advice is to play it calm for now. He is blissfully unaware of what I’m telling you now. Patience, Mr Craddick.’

Donnie Craddick was burning up inside at the thought of Roche fooling him like he had. ‘Patience? He’s dead meat!’

Ginetta took out his mobile phone, hit a button. ‘Bring Roche back in,’ he said. ‘I know you want to throttle him right here and now, but please do not let him know we have had this conversation. I have plans for our Mr Roche. Do you understand?’

Craddick nodded energetically, but his eyes were narrowed in anger and his breathing was rasping in his throat as he fought to control it. ‘I’ll do as you say for now, but I want him dead.’

The door opened and Roche and Ginetta’s minder came back into the room.

‘We have concluded our business here,’ said Ginetta. ‘Is my money safe?’ he asked his minder.

The man nodded.

Craddick stared hard and fierce at Roche, who was smiling faintly. ‘Cat got the cream, Roche?’ he asked. Roche’s smile dropped.

‘It’s time to move on, is it not?’ said Ginetta.

‘No one is moving anywhere!’ a voice cried from behind Ginetta.

All four men turned sharply to the sound. Stood in the doorway at Ginetta’s back was Inspector Lavery. He had a gun in his hand, levelled at the Italian. They’d been so engrossed no one had seen the door handle move. Lavery swung the door open wide.

‘Lavery!’ said Craddick.

‘So nice of you to remember,’ he said, stepping over the threshold. ‘Hands in the air, all of you. You, too, Ginetta.’

‘You’re like a bad penny, Lavery,’ said Ginetta. ‘You keep turning up.’ But his composure had obviously splintered.

‘At least this penny’s real, unlike that pile of duff notes. Quite a haul.’

‘We can come to some kind of arrangement,’ said Ginetta. He was aware of his minder moving slowly to one side.

Lavery shook his head. ‘I’m not that kind of man, Ginetta. Backup will be dropping in on this place in exactly five minutes. Come round to the front of the crates where I can see you,’ he ordered. ‘Come on, move it!’

The four men, hands raised, filed round the crates and faced Lavery.

Ginetta wasn’t giving up. ‘You and Winslade have been like a pair of terriers, always on my damn tail. Well if you think you’ve won think again. I’ve got low friends in high places. Very high places.’

‘Can it, Ginetta,’ said Lavery. ‘You don’t know how good this makes me feel. It’s been a long time coming.’

Ginetta’s minder pulled out his gun, and in an instant levelled it at Lavery. He let off a couple of shots in quick succession, the blasts shattering the quiet and echoing around the empty room. Roche and Craddick, ducked down, their hands instinctively placed over their heads. The bullets missed Lavery and he aimed and let off a single round. Ginetta’s minder clutched his chest, a splash of red on his white shirtfront. He staggered backwards against the crates, groaning.

Ginetta had pulled out his own gun and he fired it at Lavery. The inspector was struck in the shoulder, rocked on his feet for a moment and then let off a few rounds in the direction of Ginetta. The Italian yelped in pain, his hand going to his stomach. Blood poured over his hand. But he brought the gun up to bear again as Lavery dashed forward. He fired twice and Lavery collapsed into a heap ten yards from Ginetta. They heard him cry out in pain, then release a long, gargling breath.

‘Jesus, he’s dead!’ cried Roche.

Ginetta slid down the crate to the floor. He looked up at Craddick. ‘Get… out….’ he said faintly, his gun falling to the floor with a dull clatter.

‘They shot and killed a cop!’ cried Roche. ‘Christ, we’re in a heap of shit!’

Craddick crouched down to Ginetta. He grabbed him by the lapels. ‘Where’s my case of money? Where’d you put my hundred thousand?’

‘Boss, the police will be here any minute. We’ve got to get out!’

‘I’m not leaving empty handed. Where’s my case, you careless bastard!’

Ginetta croaked out a string of garbled words that were barely audible. Then he gasped painfully, shuddered as if cold and closed his eyes.

‘He’s dead. Leave him. Let’s get out of here.’

Craddick screamed in rage and let Ginetta fall to the blood-spattered floor. He took one last lingering look at the crates and followed Roche as he bound for the door. They launched themselves into the BMW, Craddick taking the wheel. The car’s tyres threw up a cloud of stones and dust as he hit the gas and the car tore through the yard towards the exit.

*  *  *  *