The kitchen had been gutted and redone about a year ago. It was all gleaming white tile and white units. Kept fanatically clean, it reminded me more of a hospital lab than a kitchen. And at its centre, seated at a foldaway table, was Max. He was already dressed and had strapped his mask across his maimed cheek and jaw. He was trying to eat something brown and sludgy with a teaspoon, and listening to the Today programme on Radio Four.
‘I wondered when you’d get here,’ he said, not looking up. He had one hand on his bowl, the other holding his spoon. He was showing me both hands so I wouldn’t get nervous. I wasn’t aiming the gun. It was hanging almost casually from my hand. ‘Want some breakfast?’
‘You don’t sound surprised to see me, Max.’
Now he looked up at me. ‘That’s some serious haircut, boy. Of course I’m not surprised. I heard what happened. They said the police were on the scene just too late to stop the shooting. I knew what you’d think.’
‘What would I think, Max?’ I leaned against the sink, keeping my distance.
‘Do you want some breakfast?’
‘I’ve had some, thanks.’
‘Tea?’
‘All right.’ He got up to fetch a mug from the rack. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘That’s because it’s a stupid question. I was waiting for you to come up with a cleverer one.’ He shuffled back to the table with the mug. ‘Sit down, why don’t you? And put away that bloody awful revolver. It embarrasses me having to look at it. Bloody cheap Asian copy, you’d probably miss me even at six feet. How far out of alignment is it?’
‘About half an inch at twenty yards.’
Max wrinkled his nose. ‘And it’s rusting. If you tried popping me with that, I’d more likely die of shame than anything.’
I smiled, but didn’t put the gun away. Max sighed.
‘If not for me, then for Bel.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Sound asleep in her bed, lazy sow. Here, do you want this tea?’
I took the mug from the table and placed it on the draining board, leaning against the sink again.
‘So,’ said Max, ‘someone knew you were doing the hit, and they tipped off the police. Stands to reason it must have been me or whoever was paying you in the first place.’ I nodded. He looked up at me again. ‘Well, it wasn’t me. I don’t blame you for being cagey, but it wasn’t. So all I can do is tell you how the job came about. A man phoned me, a greaseball called Scotty Shattuck. Do you know him?’ I shook my head. ‘He was regular army, but got a fright or something in the Falklands. Collected a few ears as souvenirs, and when the army found out they dumped him back into society. He’s tried his hand at mercenary work since, trained some of the fighters in Sarajevo. He doesn’t have much of a rep, spends more time bouncing for night clubs than doing short-arms practice.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘Don’t rush me, Mark. Shattuck said he had a client who was interested in having a job done. What he meant was someone had slipped him a few quid to find an assassin.’
‘Why didn’t he just take the job himself?’
‘Maybe he pitched for it but the client knew his rep. Anyway, I said I’d need a few details, and we met in Leeds. He handed over a sealed envelope, giving me the gen I gave to you when I phoned you.’
‘How much did he know about the hit?’
Max shrugged. ‘The envelopes weren’t tampered with, but he could always have torn open the original envelopes, read the gen for himself, and put it in a fresh envelope after.’
‘Would he be curious enough to do that?’
‘I don’t know, maybe. Shattuck would like to play with the big boys. He seemed to think I was some sort of pimp with a stable of snipers, asked if I’d give him a trial. I told him to behave. And he did behave, too, except when payment time came.’
‘Yes?’
‘At our final meet, again in Leeds, he handed over the case. The final details were there, but the cash was short. Two hundred short. He said it was his cut. I told him that was fine by me, but the person the money was going to wouldn’t be pleased. I asked him if two hundred was worth having to look over his shoulder the rest of his life and not go near windows.’
I grinned. ‘What did he say?’
‘He didn’t say anything, he just sort of twitched and sweated. Then he took the money out of his pocket and handed it over.’ Talking was thirsty work for Max. He had a straw in his mug of tea and took a long suck on it.
‘So where can I find him, Max?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Come on, you must know.’
‘I never needed to know. It was always him that contacted me.’
I raised the gun ever so slightly. ‘Max,’ I said. I didn’t bother saying anything else. I was too busy looking at the kitchen doorway, the one leading to the hall and the rest of the house. Bel was standing there. She was wearing a short nightdress, showing very nice legs.
She was also pointing a shotgun at me.
‘I know how to use it, Mark. Put away the gun.’
I didn’t move. ‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ I said. ‘If you’re going to be working for me, my name’s not Mark Wesley any more. It’s Michael Weston.’
Max leapt from his chair.
‘Jesus, Bel! That’s a Churchill Premier!’ He ran to the doorway and took the shotgun from her. ‘Do you know how much one of these is worth?’
‘About ten grand,’ she said.
‘Ten grand is right. Less if it’s been fired.’ He broke open the barrels to show that Bel hadn’t bothered loading the thing. I put my Magnum down on the draining board.
‘Look,’ said Max, ‘let’s all calm down. I’ll tell you what I can about Shattuck, Mark.’
‘Michael.’
‘Okay, Michael. I’ll tell you what I can. But let’s sit down. All this Gunfight at the OK Corral stuff makes me nervous, especially in the kitchen. Do you know how long it took me to do this tiling?’
So Max put the kettle on and we sat down. Bel gave me a lopsided smile, and I winked back at her.
‘Black suits you,’ she said, meaning my hair. ‘Even if that haircut does make you look like a copper.’ She touched my foot with her own under the table. We’d played this game before, enjoying the fact of having a secret from Max. I tried to remember that only a few minutes ago, she’d been aiming a shotgun at me, albeit unloaded. Bel had the face of a sixth-form schoolgirl, but I knew there was much more to her than that.
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘I haven’t brought you a souvenir this trip.’
She attempted a pout. ‘I’m hurt.’
I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out the hat I’d bought. ‘Unless you want this.’
She took it from me and looked at it. ‘Gee, thanks,’ she said, her voice heavy with irony. ‘I’ll keep it under my pillow.’
Max was massaging his jaw. Usually he didn’t say much, understandably. He’d said more in the past twenty minutes than he would over the course of a normal day.
‘What was that about me working for you?’ Bel asked, folding her arms.
‘More properly, working with me.’ I was looking at Max as I spoke. ‘I’m going to have to go back to London, there are questions I need to ask. I’d look less conspicuous with a partner. Plus maybe there are some people I can’t talk to myself. But Bel could talk to them.’
‘No,’ Max said.
‘I pay well, and I’d look after her. I’d play it straight. First sign of danger, I zoom back up here with her.’