Nel-M watched Raoul look thoughtfully, agitatedly at his shoes for a second — snakeskin with a maroon leather band — pursing his lips as he mulled it over. It looked like he was going to need a bit more push.
‘Roche has even thought of a figure for you. Forty grand. No arguments, no questions. But also, no come-backs or demands later. It’s a one-shot deal.’
Raoul looked up and blew a soft whistle into the night air. ‘Same as the first time, huh?’
‘Yeah. Same as.’ Nel-M held Raoul’s gaze for an instant; snake-eyes, snake-shoes. He could tell that Raoul was close, teetering on the edge. Behind them a ship’s horn sounded as it approached Algiers Point.
Raoul looked over his shoulder as a sudden babble of voices burst from a bar eighty yards up the road.
They were away from the main bar and restaurant area, but obviously still not far enough, thought Nel-M. And there was still a thread of uncertainty holding Raoul back.
‘I’ve got the money right over there, in my car. Should you decide to take it.’ Nel-M started pacing towards his car without looking back for Raoul’s reaction.
After five yards they came alongside a large warehouse, and, as they turned the corner to follow the flank of the building, the atmosphere changed completely. It was darker, the street-lighting sparser, the bars and restaurants a hundred yards away hidden from view by the two-storey corrugated warehouse walls. At the end of the warehouse and before the next was a small patch of waste-ground used as a makeshift car-park for twenty or so cars. At this time of night only three cars were there, one of which was Nel-M’s.
Nel-M knew that if he’d arranged to meet Raoul here initially, Raoul would have balked, or at least would have been suspicious and wary. That’s why he’d decided on the bar and the staged fight.
‘And you got the money right here, in your car?’
‘Yep.’ Nel-M could tell from the edge in Raoul’s voice that he’d taken the bait. The smell and immediacy of the money was just too tempting. ‘No point in delaying. One quick call to Roche for a final nod, and the money’s yours. Done deal. So, what do you think?’
One final appraisal of his shoes, lips pursing, before Raoul looked up again. ‘Okay, okay.’ The words rode a hushed exhalation, as if he was accepting the money reluctantly.
Equally, Nel-M kept his voice low as he took out his cell-phone and started speaking to Roche, holding one hand up towards Raoul as he took a couple of steps away.
‘So, you were right,’ Roche said on the back of a tired sigh. ‘He did want an extra payment.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Looks like it.’
‘Another forty grand, you say?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And do you think he’ll come back for more again later?’
‘Yeah, looks like it. At least, that’s how I read it.’
Another tired sigh. ‘I suppose we’re going to have to take the option you suggested, against my better judgement. Less possible problems later. Except, that is, for how we’re going to square things with Malastra.’
‘That too will be better dealt with now rather than later.’
‘You mean once he becomes “made”?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Okay.’ Roche exhaled as the silence lengthened. ‘I understand you can’t say too much your end.’ One final weary sigh. ‘Just take care of it the best way you see fit.’
‘Will do.’ Nel-M beamed widely as he looked back at Raoul. ‘Great. He’s given the okay.’
Raoul mirrored Nel-M’s smile; but then it quickly faltered, sinking, as, in the same motion of Nel-M putting away his cell-phone, he saw him slide a gun out, a 9mm with silencer already attached.
Raoul held one hand up defensively, his eyes darting in panic. ‘Roche said for you to gimme the money.’
Nel-M cocked an eyebrow. ‘Now, let me think. When he said to “let you have it” — could I have got the wrong meaning?’ Nel-M had wanted to kill Raoul from the outset. He might as well squeeze every bit of juice from it. ‘Maybe my poor grasp of English letting me down again? You know, us poor Southern “boys”, they didn’t let us near any books until much later in life.’
‘You… you can’t do this.’ Raoul’s eyes continued darting for possible options. Hoping that someone from the nearby bars might suddenly come around the corner, a verbal gem to stop Nel-M in his tracks; empty prayers on his breath falling into the night air. ‘You wouldn’t dare touch me. Carmen would tear your fuckin’ heart out.’
‘You’re just small potatoes in Carmen’s empire. And Roche could buy and sell Carmen ten times over. So in the scheme of things — you’re really small.’ Nel-M raised his gun and aimed. ‘And about to disappear completely.’
Raoul moved his hand higher in response, and Nel-M’s bullet took off Raoul’s index fingertip before slamming into his left cheekbone, leaving a gaping hole as it deflected and exited just below his temple. The impact threw Raoul Ferrer back a full yard and left him partly on one side, his body twitching as blood pumped up through the hole in his cheek.
Just in case it was Raoul’s nervous system and brain still intact, rather than death throes, Nel-M put the silencer barrel by Raoul’s left eye and squeezed off a second shot. It certainly wasn’t to put Raoul out of pain quickly.
Dougy Sawyer had decided to stop by their table on his way out. ‘I… I was wondering if you’ve had a chance to speak to Mike Coultaine yet?’
It was Sawyer who’d recommended to Langfranc that whoever took on the Durrant case should speak to Coultaine.
‘No, not yet,’ Jac said. ‘There’s been some initial — ’
‘Jac thought he should find his feet first,’ Langfranc cut in; the last thing Jac needed was news of problems with Durrant getting back to Beaton. ‘Get through his initial interviews with Durrant before seeing Coultaine.’
‘Well — you want to speak to Coultaine soon as you can,’ Sawyer said. ‘Except that now the hurricane season’s winding down he’s probably out on his boat fly-fishing every day. Harder to get hold of than when he was with the firm.’ Sawyer smiled meekly, but there was a faint gleam in his eye, as if he too might like to escape and fly-fish the rest of his days away. Or because he considered it pure folly, reserved only for the mad or brave, like Mike Coultaine. ‘I know that he was upset at losing the appeal. I think Durrant touched him deeper than any of us appreciated… along with a few other cases. Probably the reason that Mike retired so early. Still…’ Sawyer half-turned, distracted, as a noisy group took up seats a couple of tables away.
‘Yes… yes, it is.’ Jac exhaled heavily. ‘Haveling phoned me this morning to tell me that Marmont’s condition had worsened. The hospital give him less than twenty per cent chance of pulling through. Haveling said that the next forty-eight hours would be the most telling — but that, obviously, if Marmont died, all bets were off.’
Jac found himself on edge over the following days, fearful each time the phone rang that it would be Haveling calling to say that Marmont had died.
Late afternoon, with the help of the company’s IT man, he’d discovered more about the e-maiclass="underline" signed up and sent from an internet cafe, Cybersurf on Prytania Street, and an anonymous, untraceable e-mail address: durransave4@ hotmail.com. He phoned Cybersurf — it had been paid cash and they didn’t recall who’d been on that computer then.
Just as the last people were leaving the office, Penny Vance calling out, ‘Have a nice weekend,’ Jac finally sent the reply he’d been turning over in his mind the past twenty-four hours. Equally brief, but hopefully it might draw them out and give him what he needed; if anything came back.