It probably only lasted a few seconds. Kruger’s perception was that it seemed to go on for ever until the cigar was lifted away, having been effectively stubbed out. A black-grey-red welt was left sizzling on the back of his hand.
Bussola leaned back, satisfied by his handiwork. He immediately re-ignited the cigar. With a wave he indicated for the guards to release Kruger.
‘ You bastard!’ cried Kruger, He leapt up and raced to the bar, watched curiously by Charlie Gilbert who was sat on a stool, drinking. He ducked as Kruger approached, but need not have worried. Kruger veered past him and thrust his throbbing hand into the bucket of ice cubes on the bar top.
Breathless, he turned and glared at Bussola, holding himself back from doing or saying anything he might not live to regret.
The ice worked well, numbing the pain like an anaesthetic.
All four guards had their handguns drawn, gazing indolently at Kruger who could see they were totally different material to the ones he’d encountered the other night. Those two dickbrains were probably delivering pizzas now.
With a waggle of his fingers, Bussola beckoned Kruger back to his seat.
He carried the ice-bucket wedged under one arm, keeping his hand shoved deep into the ice. He sat shaking. Fear, mainly, being the cause. Pain too.
‘ Yeah, almost the right answer, Steve,’ Bussola said in a level conversational tone, as if nothing had happened. ‘But let’s stop beating about the bush: I have the whole of your meeting and chit-chat with Felicity down on tape.’
‘ You tape what goes on in your house while you’re not there?’ Kruger asked in disbelief.
‘ Absolutely. I like to know what she gets up to while I’m away. I have some very heavy footage of several of her sexual encounters with a succession of personal fitness trainers. I say succession because each one has met with — how shall I say? — an unfortunate set of circumstances. Gotta say, I prefer videos featuring younger people, though.’
‘ You’re a whizz of a hubby, Mario.’
Bussola’s face set for a moment; Kruger thought he’d made a remark too far, then the big man relaxed again, did not rise to the bait.
‘ In that case,’ Kruger pushed on quickly, ‘you know I didn’t screw her and she had me by the short and curlies.’
‘ That shock-baton stuff?’
‘ Yep.’
‘ Looks as though I have the privilege now, doesn’t it?’
‘ Looks that way,’ Kruger admitted. His world collapsed at the prospect of having a Mafia godfather playing executive games with his testicles. Despite the ice, his hand started hurting again.
‘ Hey, you’re worried. Can see it in your face. No need. I don’t propose to use the knowledge of your past shady dealings in any way to influence you or blackmail you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re not worth it, Steve. You’re just a piece of dogshit on my shoes and I wanna wipe you off. Basically I’m gonna have you executed and I’ll tell you why. You’ — he leaned forwards and held the newly lit burning tip of the cigar perilously close to Kruger’s face; Kruger felt its heat. Instinctively he jerked back. ‘You have severely annoyed me. Firstly by being so weak-kneed as to give in to the petty demands of your nympho ex-wife and then,’ his voice rose a few tones, ‘having the effrontery to go up against me. You have caused me considerable pain and aggravation AND cost me money. These guys,’ he waved to indicate the bodyguards, ‘will accompany you back to your car, pump several big fucking holes into your skull and then dump you in the Everglades, but before you go, just hand me your Rolex, please. It’s too nice for an alligator to swallow.’
Kruger handed over his most treasured possession. He squirmed inwardly whilst he watched Bussola strap it onto his own wrist.
‘ Nice,’ he said admiringly, ‘very nice.’
Once again, the big man moved faster than Kruger could have anticipated. He rose from his seat, wrapped a huge arm around Kruger’s neck, holding him there in a vice in the crook of his elbow, then stubbed the cigar out on Kruger’s face. When it was extinguished, he pushed Kruger away. The ice-bucket spilled and Kruger went down onto his knees, covering his horrendously injured face with his hands, moaning loudly.
‘ Take this fucker away and ice him,’ Bussola ordered.
Just how Danny managed it, Henry Christie wasn’t sure.
He could not conceal a smile when he entered the first-floor briefing room at Blackpool police station and saw the room packed with the officers she had managed to pull together for ‘Operation Trawler’.
The operation which, Henry hoped, would lead to the capture of Louis Vernon Trent.
There was a full police support unit from Preston (one Inspector, three Sergeants and twenty-one Constables). Not bad going by any standards. In addition there were six PCs from Blackpool and three Detective Constables from his own office. Danny had also managed to turn out seven Special Constables. There was a dog-handler and four PCs from the mouthed branch, dogs and horses being excluded from the room. Six plainclothes officers from the Targeting Team made up the rest.
All were swigging tea, coffee or orange juice and scoffing biscuits, thoughtfully provided by Danny. She stood by the briefing lectern at the front of the room, shuffling papers, happily taking charge of the whole kit and caboodle.
Henry was impressed by the turnout. It was just one of those days when everyone seemed to be at the other end of the phone. There were not many of those days in a year.
‘ Okay, people,’ he began, sliding in next to Danny. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Can I have your undivided attention, please?’ The room fell silent. ‘To those of you from outside the Division, welcome to Blackpool. Whilst you’re here, we’ll try to look after your needs to the best of our abilities; to our residents, we’ll try to look after you shower, too. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m DI Henry Christie and this is Danny Furness who’ll be running the show. And, not to put too fine a point on it, you’re here to hunt down a very, very dangerous individual indeed…’
By the time Henry Christie was saying those words, that dangerous individual had been up and out of bed for an hour. Although he had only got to bed at 5 a.m., the few hours’ sleep he’d had were adequate. Several years behind bars had whittled away his need for sleep. He woke bright and cheerful.
The owner of the guest-house, Mrs Mitcham, a lady in her early fifties, was extremely happy to cook Trent a late breakfast… at a price. Not being his own money, Trent paid gladly.
Outside, the weather was glorious.
Trent’s first objective was to extend his wardrobe again by buying some light summer gear. Then he intended to drift round town and go into a pub where he knew he could off-load the credit cards and driving licence he’d stolen from several unfortunate people the previous day. He’d take whatever price was offered. Probably about a hundred quid, he guessed — but before all that, he had a more urgent need to fulfil.
He used the phone in the guest-house to order a taxi which subsequently deposited him in Blackpool town centre just as Henry handed the briefing over to Danny.
Two behind. One either side. That was the formation. Each of them with a hand resting inconspicuously on the butt of some type of firearm or other, concealed by well-tailored clothing from the prying eyes of the outside world.
Kruger was the man in the middle.
Before they left the room, he was given instructions by Bussola.
‘ Okay Steve, you walk out of here nice and cool, okay? You walk them to your car and they’ll do it there, nice ‘n’ quick — promise. Bam! Bam!’ He pointed his forefinger at Kruger’s head and cocked his thumb. ‘Over in a jiffy… Now, you might well think that before you reach the parking lot you’ll try some fancy footwork as you walk through the airport, or even do something really rash — like attract some cop’s attention. Now, Steve, I gotta warn you, if you do, these nice guys will blow you away there and then — and any other simple fucker who so much as steps towards them. There’ll be a real bloodbath, at the end of which they’ll simply fade into the background.