I did up my jacket, placed a kiss on Amy’s cheek, as I walked towards the security guard, I shook my head at Hod. ‘If he tests that theory, Amy, be sure to take a note of the ward number.’
39
Thought it best to avoid conversation on the way to Benny the Bullfrog’s office. Got the impression the pug had a limited vocabulary. Probably expressed himself best with, on good days, a baseball bat, on bad ones, a crowbar. My bones twitched. Knees and shins especially. Wondered, would I be walking back this way again?
Jean Cocteau said: ‘Life is a horizontal fall.’ Knew for sure mine was. But every fall had to be broken.
We passed through what seemed like a never ending tunnel of richly carpeted corridors. Chandeliers sparkled above foot-high skirtings edged in gilt. It took serious wedge to put a look like this together. Hod runs a calculator in his head to these things, me, the impact’s personal. I want to chuck out the owner, give the place to the scores of families living in B amp;Bs up and down the country. I replayed the scene in Doctor Zhivago when the Reds take over the big house. The owners get forced into the attic… until it’s decided a few more families could live there too. That’s redistribution of wealth for you. Say you want a revolution? Bring it right on.
My face slipped into a grimace without even trying. As the goon brought me to Zalinskas’ door I wiped it away. He knocked once, I readied myself to meet the man.
After a few seconds the door unlocked and slowly opened. I peered through the gap, nobody there.
I walked inside.
‘Hello…’
No answer.
A wall of monitors flickered at me. Some of them showed scenes from the casino floor, others spewed statistics — cash taken, payouts, the sums were eye-watering.
The decor here took a departure. A Siberian tiger skin covered a large section of the floor, glass eyes dead to the world but the coat still glossy. I stepped over the head of the poor beast, said, ‘Sorry, buddy.’ Felt like I’d stamped on a grave.
In the centre of the room a circular seating area was set into the floor. I’d only ever seen this in movies, it looked very Carlito’s Way. Got the idea Zalinskas wanted to make an impression. The vibe was: ‘This is my lair.’
A chrome rail skirted the room, glass bricks beneath lit up. Felt like I’d stepped into the Billie Jean video as I paced the joint.
I touched the walls. Red suede. Then I saw it.
‘No way!’
Zalinskas had a wolf.
Sunk in the wall, like a giant fish tank, was a glass-walled cage. Inside, the wolf prowled back and forth, back and forth, raising its nose to the airholes and picking up a new scent.
I touched the cage. ‘You poor bastard.’
I wanted to find something to smash the glass, let the creature out. But I didn’t rate my chances against those fangs.
I felt appalled, shook my head, then a haughty voice cut the air, ‘He’s a killer, don’t you know. Canis Lupus!’ said Zalinskas.
I recognised him at once. He glided across the room towards me, wearing a black silk shirt, open at the neck. White, what can only be described as ‘slacks’ sat above a hint of belly. As he came closer I saw his shoes were white too, except for some snow leopard detailing. I’d seen something similar on punky brothel creepers, but these shouted a whole other message.
‘You like my companion?’
I kept a lid on my thoughts, I said, ‘He’s… impressive.’
Zalinskas liked that, smiled, a vicious barracuda smirk.
‘An amazing predator,’ his voice betrayed little of his Russian background, he’d had good voice coaches, I’d give him that, ‘almost six feet long, seventy kilograms.’
‘Not to be messed with.’
The smirk again. ‘Indeed.’ Zalinskas moved towards the glass cage, leaned forward. ‘Are you au fait with the pack mentality, Mr…?’
I let his question go unanswered. ‘Dury.’
‘The wolf has a highly developed social structure, Mr Dury. Only one dominant male — ’ he tapped the glass — ‘will ever be allowed to mate, he will always eat first, and all challengers to his dominance are banished or killed.’ Zalinskas ran a finger down the glass, then turned towards me.
‘Survival of the fittest,’ I said.
‘Quite.’
‘The strong preying on the weak.’
He flung back his head, laughed to the heavens. His teeth looked neat and straight, bone white. ‘Have you ever heard the howl of a wolf, Mr Dury?’
‘Close up? Can’t say I have.’
‘It’s not a warning to take lightly.’ He turned from me, took his hand along the rail for a few steps then raised both arms in the air. ‘A drink, I think. I believe we have a rather substantial win at my tables to celebrate.’
I followed Zalinskas to his desk; it had a black marble top, supported by giant bronze eagles, wings spread. Strange how all these petty despots like to surround themselves with this kind of symbolism. I imagined I’d seen him in some of those holiday snaps Adolf Hitler took after the Third Reich captured Paris — here’s me and Benny at the Eiffel Tower… the Arc de Triomphe…
Zalinskas held out a brandy glass, said, ‘Armagnac?’
‘I won’t say no.’
He swilled the liquid about in the glass, sipped.
I shot mine, handed over the chit. ‘About this.’
Zalinskas glanced at the piece of paper, I waited for an eyebrow to be raised. His face remained calm as he opened a drawer and handed over two banker’s rolls.
‘Should I check it?’ I said.
‘Don’t you trust me, Mr Dury?’
‘You might have given me too much.’
Zalinskas smiled, those teeth! I thought they must play havoc with the ultra-violet lights in his clubs, he said, ‘I don’t make mistakes.’
I trousered the cash. Now it was time to really start gambling. ‘Is that so?’
Zalinskas sat back in his chair, reached for the bottle and topped up our glasses.
I dived in. ‘I believe we have a common friend — sorry, had.’
‘Really?’
‘Billy Thompson.’
If Zalinskas changed his expression, I missed it.
‘Such a tragic soul,’ he said. He flipped the lid on a cigar box, took one and slid it towards me. ‘They’re Cuban.’
I closed the lid, ferreted for my tabs. ‘I smoke my own.’
‘As you wish.’
Clouds of smoke gathered between us. Zalinskas seemed content. If there was any enjoyment to be had in this situation, I wasn’t getting it.
‘Was certainly dramatic, the way Billy went,’ I said.
‘Such a loss.’
‘To whom?’
‘I’m speaking in general.’
‘What exactly did Billy do for you, Mr Zalinskas?’
‘He was what you might call a factotum.’
‘He certainly seemed to juggle a lot of jobs from what I hear.’
For the first time, his ice-cool appearance cracked. ‘Billy was ambitious, I like to reward such types.’
I stood up, helped myself to more Armagnac. ‘Good stuff this. I could see how a taste for the finer things might turn a young lad’s head — Was that it, Mr Zalinskas? Did Billy get greedy?’
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. He was a valued employee, his death was a loss to all of us. Myself especially.’
I chanced my arm. ‘That’s not what I hear. Some say you had good reason to get rid.’ I moved over to the wall of monitors. ‘Quite a dust-up the pair of you had before his death. Did the cameras capture that?’
Zalinskas kept shtum. Rolled the glass between his palms.
I slammed my hand on the marble top. ‘Nothing to say?’
‘Calumnies are best answered with silence.’
‘Ben Johnson.’
‘You’re obviously an intelligent man. Why are you pursuing such rumours, such lies?’
I played him at his own game. ‘What’s a lie but a truth in masquerade?’ He looked up, obviously not a Byron fan.
He faced me, I thought he might crack, but then he smiled. ‘Dig away, Mr Dury. I can assure you there is nothing to implicate me in Billy Thompson’s death.’