Sold. Blair Denholm
teenage daughters were at the beach every day, damn them. He hated how Irina spoiled Anya and Tanya. Even buying cars for them, for God’s sake. They were just learning to drive and Irina wanted to let them loose on the streets in a couple of fancy autos.
‘Ivan,’ she’d said to him, ‘they’re too scared to learn to drive in Russia. You know how dangerous it is there. People get shot for not giving way, or for calling another driver a goat’s arsehole. Not to mention the awful roads full of craters. It’s better they learn here, believe me.’
And he believed her. Even if their daughters were a couple of conniving, manipulative bitches. They were at the beach now, tanning themselves and splashing about in the waves while mummy and daddy bought them a car each. He shook his head, bewildered by his wife’s largesse. He’d never owned a car in Russia and would have given anything as a young man to have one. Even a shitty Russian-built Zaporozhets, a forty horsepower weakling of a car that couldn’t pull a skinny old babushka out of her sandals. Along with the toiling masses he’d suffered the rattling, freezing buses and trams to get around.
Irina sashayed out of the bathroom, looking as comfortable in her business attire as Ivan looked uncomfortable in his. Primrose pants suit, a single string of pearls with matching earrings and stilettos sharp enough to penetrate a man’s throat. A shimmering aubergine crocodile-skin handbag completed the ensemble.
‘Okay, Ivan. Listen to me.’ Irina took a menthol cigarette from a silver case and tapped it twice on the dining table. ‘I want you to be the boss, like last time.’ She lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. ‘Make a good impression on this foolish Gary. I’m sure we can use him later on. If you get stuck, just ask me and I’ll tell you what to say.’
She stubbed out her barely smoked cigarette. ‘Let’s go, baby.’
‘I’m pleased to see you done what Mr Mackenzie asked.’
Bradley Jones spoke with a soft voice, almost effeminate, belying his menacing appearance. Gary twitched. Men like Jones are supposed to snarl and foam at the mouth. Then he remembered seeing a movie with Mike Tyson playing a cameo and how the vicious boxer spoke like a sheila with a lisp. Dammit. His balls were starting to itch again.
Jones opened the manila envelope, tipped out wads of cash and counted out the money on Gary’s table. He flicked through the cash with the skills of an old-school bank teller. He snapped the thick rubber bands around four bundles of notes and dropped them back in the envelope.
Gary observed in silence but his heart thrashed away in his chest.
‘It’s all here.’ Jones patted the envelope and smiled. His teeth were so dazzling and uniform, they had to be dentures.
Gary gulped. ‘So’s that all?’
The thug chuckled, leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head.
‘Just grab me a coffee please. There’s one fing we need to discuss before I go. How you answer will decide if you lose the ability to walk.’
‘What do you mean?’ Gary spluttered. ‘I’ve paid back all Jocko’s money, so what else is there?’
‘Mr Mackenzie has been patient wiff you. Other people in this town, pricks who are not as understanding, would have added interest to that debt. Or given you a good fucken hiding, you little maggot. But Mr MacKenzie, as you know, is a generous man. You made him wait a long time. He’s not used to being stuffed around by weasels like you, and he’s not pleased. So he wants you to do a little job for him. After that you’ll be square. How does that sound?’
‘That depends what it is, I guess.’
Jones shook his head slowly. ‘I’m afraid you have no choice. If you don’t agree I’m gonna do to your missus what got me locked away for my second stretch at Wolston. Understand?’ Jones’s mouth formed a broad smile – all lips and no teeth, his cheeks puffed out and his eyes shrunk to slits.
Gary began to shake, sweat beaded on his brow. Wolston was a prison for the scum of the Earth, rock spiders who raped women and molested kids. A holding pen for the dregs of society.
Jones stared out the window as the information sank into Gary’s brain.
‘That wife of yours is a hottie, much prettier than the dirty bitch I fucked in her pathetic little newsagency,’ said Jones. The brute’s eyes glittered with gleeful malevolence. He leaned closer and lowered his voice almost to a whisper. ‘Wanna know why she copped it?’
‘No, but I guess you’re going to tell me anyway.’
Gary cradled his head and rocked back and forth. A jabbing pain shot through his stomach, his head ached from the top of his skull to the bottom of his chin. An angry python had slithered down his neck and, any second now, he’d keel over, asphyxiated. Fuck, he could do with a drink.
‘Done the slag over cos she was giving me the come-on and then pretended she wasn’t. I don’t like deception. Just remember, one false move from you and your Maddie’s gonna be enjoying some sexy times wiff yours truly. I’d also be concerned about me own ‘elf if I was you. Now, where’s that fucken coffee. White wiff one, if you don’t mind.’
Gary buzzed the receptionist and ordered two coffees. While Gary was on the phone to Raewyn, Jones pulled out an ancient Gameboy and fiddled with the controls. The little handheld device bleeped and blipped – the break in communication was a welcome reprieve. He studied the childlike wonder playing across the enforcer’s face. Amazing how a violent yobbo could morph into a happy kid with just a simple computer game to distract him.
But then–
‘Jesus Christ!’ Jones roared. He jumped up and smashed the Gameboy on the floor. Shards of plastic flew everywhere. ‘That Donkey Kong cunt always fucks me over.’ A large vein protruded on the goon’s left temple, his pupils dilated wide, evil black buttons. His hands twitched by his sides.
Gary sat frozen, a wallaby in the headlights, his heart galloping so fast he thought he’d pass out. This is the end; the bastard is going to kill me in my own office.
Raewyn tapped on the door then pushed it open with her ample backside.
‘Coffee, gentlemen?’
‘Watch your step, Rae,’ Gary warned as she almost trod on a large piece of shattered Gameboy. ‘Mr Jones here just dropped his, ah, smartphone and I was about to clear away the mess. I’ll just need another fifteen minutes.’
‘No worries,’ said Raewyn. ‘Let me know if there’s anything else you need.’
Jones kept staring, but Gary refused to maintain eye contact. This was about the weirdest situation he’d ever been in. He had no idea how to play it. This was his turf, dammit, but the unwelcome visitor had the upper hand.
‘No need to shit yer pants. I do get carried away wiff me computer games. That’s about the fifth one of those fuckers I’ve destroyed this year but what the hell, I can get a new one any time. Nintendo must love people like me, hey?’
‘I guess.’ Gary hid his trembling hands under the desk. ‘What the hell does Jocko want me to do?’
‘Nah, can’t say,’ sneered Jones, arms folded across his massive chest. ‘That’d be stealing Mr Mackenzie’s thunder. He’s expecting you at his place tonight 10.30pm exactly. Not before. And be sober. He wants you to understand all the details. If you don’t show on time, I’ll hunt you down and hurt you. And then Maddie. It’s so much easier when you cooperate, but not as much fun for me. All clear, fuckstick?’
‘Yes,’ said Gary, exhaling in resignation. ‘I’ll be there.’
