Beauty and the Dark Page 17

  “Did she manage to get the chocolate?”

  My heart contracts. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Good. It’s a good thing I remembered in time.”

  “Thanks for helping Sofia, Ma.” I throw the wet towel into the washing basket and, naked, head for the cupboard.

  “Awww. I love that girl. When are you going to put a ring on her finger?”

  I swallow the lump. “As soon as I can, Ma. As soon as I can.”

  “She’s a good girl.”

  I die a little inside at the injustice of life. “I got to go now, Ma. I just called to see that you were all right and to thank you for everything.”

  “Thank me for what?”

  “For being so kind to Sofia. For treating her like your own daughter.”

  “Don’t be talking nonsense now,” she says gruffly.

  “Bye, Ma.”

  “Bye son.”

  “Ma?”

  “I love you.”

  “Oh, Jack. I love you too.”

  I terminate the call and open my wardrobe door. My last will and testament is all in order, and everything will go to her. She will be a rich woman. Not that she will want it. I guess she can give it all away.

  A text comes through. It’s a photo of Valdislav. I look at him, my stomach filling with acid. Hate surges into me. I stare at him for a moment longer. The sly eyes, the self-satisfied smirk. We will meet soon, you sick bastard. Very soon. Then we’ll see how you smirk.

  Then I click out of it. My hands are completely steady and I feel utterly focused on my mission.

  I dial Lana’s number, and putting the phone down, step into a pair of underpants.

  “Hi, Jack,” she says brightly.

  I sit on the bed and pull on my socks. I’m always going to love this woman. Always. “Hey, Lana. I just wanted you to know that I’ll always love you. You’re truly the sister I never had.”

  She laughs. “You’re getting soft in the head, Irish. What’s all this in aid of?”

  “Nothing. Sometimes it’s good to tell people what they mean to you.”

  “Well, you know exactly how I feel about you.”

  “I do, Lana. Anyway, is Sorab there?”

  “Right here, actually, but before I put him on, want to do dinner together next week? The four of us?”

  My voice doesn’t falter. “Sure, why not.”

  “Okay. I’ll arrange something and liaise with Sofia.”

  “Fine.”

  “Bye, Jack. Here is your godson now.”

  “Hello, Uncle Jack.” His voice is bright and full of life.

  “Hello, Dragon Slayer.”

  “Are you coming over tonight, Uncle Jack?”

  “Not tonight, but I hope you’re being a good boy.”

  “I am,” he says instantly. “Uncle Jack?” His voice is full of excitement.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m getting a dog tomorrow from the Rescue Center.”

  “Wow! That’s brilliant.”

  “He’s only got three legs, but he chose me. He came up to me and licked my hand, and I knew he was for me.”

  For the strangest reason my eyes burn with tears. “What are you going to call him?”

  “I’m going to call him Jack Double.”

  I close my eyes. Sorab will show this world how it is done. I will die happy knowing that a child like him exists in this world. If my only legacy will be to lend my name to a three-legged dog belonging to him, I am content.

  “I’ve got to go, Sorab, but I want you to always remember that I’m so proud of you.”

  “Nite nite, Uncle Jack.”

  “Goodbye, Sorab.”

  Quickly, I get into a black turtle neck jumper and trousers. I pull my sneakers out from the bottom of my cupboard and lace them up. They are more silent than ordinary shoes.

  Next, I go to my drawer and take out the knife I’ve had since I was a kid. Noah thinks I’m taking a knife to a gun fight, but not many people can do with a gun what I can with a knife. I slip it into the back of my jeans waistband. There is also another smaller knife in the drawer. I slip that into my right sock.

  Going into the kitchen, I fish out the half-cooked meat from the stew, ladle the pieces into a plastic bag, and tie the top securely. Opening the fridge, I take out the expensive bottle of champagne that Sofia was saving for Valentine’s day. I stuff the bottle and the meat into a shopping bag.

  With Mika following closely behind, I go into the living room. I pick up my phone and look up the address of Valdislav’s brothel on Google Maps. It is at the end of the road in a residential area. Navigating around the neighborhood, I find that the house opposite seems to be built in exactly the same design.

  I leave the key under the mat and go out to meet my fate.

  Forty-five

  Jack

  Harry’s practice is not far from Victoria Station, so I get there quite quickly using the same bully boy method I employed earlier. I don’t see any traffic wardens so I brazenly park on the sidewalk outside his premises and dash inside.

  He takes me to his office.

  “What’s going on?” he asks.

  “I haven’t got the time to explain, Harry.”

  “Fine. What do you need?”

  “I need tranquilizers. Give me enough to put four men down.”

  His eyebrows shoot up into his receding hairline. “Whoa. What have you got yourself involved in?”

  My impatience must have flashed in my eyes because he lifts his hands up, palms facing me and backs off. “Don’t eat me. I’ll go get them for you.”

  “Have you got a tranquilizer gun?”

  This time he turns around and stares at me. “Are you serious?”

  “I need to take down at least three dogs. Two pitbulls and one rottie.”

  He shakes his head as if he just can’t believe what he is hearing, then nods. “Yeah, I’ll get it for you.”

  He brings them to me and gives me a quick demo on how to use the gun. He hands me the tranquilizer injections. “Use them with care. Each one is enough to bring down a very small horse or a very big man.”

  I slip them into my jacket pocket. “Thanks. Now can I have your coat and a nametag if you have one lying around?”

  Wordlessly, he roots around in one of his drawers and finds a nametag. He takes off his white coat and gives both items to me.

  I take the coat and pin the nametag on it. “Do you have a clipboard and pen?”

  He puts both his hands up again as if he has quit trying to figure out what is happening and goes to a back room. He comes back with a clipboard and pen.

  I take them from him and cast my eyes on the things on his table top. “Thanks. One last thing. Can I have an A4 paper with some lines or boxes on it. Something that looks like a form.”

  He doesn’t say anything, just returns to the room at the back and comes back with a stack of forms with boxes, words and lines on it.

  “Oh, and either your credit card machine or a calculator.”

  “No way man. I need my credit card machine, but you can have my calculator. It’s out front at reception,” he says, leading the way there. He reaches behind the counter and comes up with a medium sized calculator. If I’m lucky it will do.

  “Brilliant. Thanks. I owe you one, Harry,” I say.

  “You owe me at least five,” he says.

  I push open his glass door and see a stony-faced traffic warden writing a ticket for my car. I run to my car and jump into it.

  “Once I have issued the ticket you still have to pay it,” he hollers as I roar off.

  The journey to Tower Bridge takes me just under half an hour, even with me blaring my horn and acting like a total jerk.

  I park the car, take my jacket off and get into Harry’s white coat. Buttoning it up, I take the clipboard and the calculator, and stride confidently to the end of the road. I don’t even glance at the house I am interested in. Instead, I walk to the house opposite. Thank god, there are lights on. Th
rough the window I can see three kids sitting at a table doing their homework. I ring the bell.

  A woman answers the door. “Yes?” she asks with a frown.

  I look down at my clipboard first then up at her. “Good evening, Madam. There has been a gas leak in the area, and I’d like to check that your house has not been affected.” I wave my calculator at her.

  She stops frowning and looks alarmed. “Of course,” she says, stepping back and opening the door wider.

  Until this moment I never imagined it was going to be this easy. I didn’t really believe the article I read that most people are so reassured with badges of authority that they would even let anyone with a clipboard or a uniform into their house without checking their identity first.

  “Thank you,” I say, stepping into her hallway. “This won’t take long, and you can follow me around the house for your peace of mind.”

  “All right,” she agrees immediately.

  I angle the calculator so that she can only see the back of it, and start walking around her house. I note the cloakroom on my left and go into an open plan living room. The kids look up at me curiously. Holding my calculator aloft I smile politely at them and quickly walk through the room past the dining table towards the sliding glass doors.

  “Can I open them?” I ask the woman.

  “Of course,” she says, and rushes to open it for me.

  I step out into the garden and observe the measurements. I re-enter the house through the kitchen door. It’s not big, but there is a side door which leads to a small pantry. I walk into the corridor that leads back to the reception rooms and the front door. There is another door to my right. I open it and find a smaller reception room. I go into it with my calculator held up high, look at it, press a few buttons, and turn around to smile at the woman.

  “So far so good,” I proclaim.

  She smiles back, relieved. I go upstairs with the woman following me anxiously and note the exact layout of the house while pretending to monitor the gas levels.

  I turn to look at her. “Looks like all is well with your house.”

  She appears happy.

  “I’ll be off then.”

  She follows me to the front door, and fucking thanks me for the privilege of casing her house before closing the door. If I make it through this, I’ll send her a note and tell her never to let a stranger with a clipboard into her house again.

  I glance at the opposite house as I walk back to my car. There are lights on in it. I chuck the clipboard into the well of the front seat and, taking off my coat, I slip quickly into my black jacket. I check that my tranquilizer injections are still in the pocket. Then I stuff the tranquilizer gun into the waistband of my jeans, take the bag with the meat and champagne, and set off down the road.

  I walk around the wall of the house. When I get to the position where I cannot be seen from the road, I throw the meat over the wall and wait for the dogs to smell it.

  The two pitbulls come almost instantly. They must be starving because they growl and snap at each other in their race to gobble down the fresh meat. The rottie is next to arrive. It joins in the foray.

  Lifting myself over the wall I take aim and shoot. The rottie first because it is the biggest. It whines and jumps back in shock. The pitbulls carry on eating. I land back on the ground and reload. One after the other I get the pitbulls. Then I hang around for about ten minutes while the darts take effect.

  The rottie is still growling softly when I jump into the enemy’s yard.

  Forty-six

  Jack

  I crouch low, and keeping in the shadows of the wall, make my way to the back door. I notice there is a window open upstairs. Good. I will climb the drainpipe if the kitchen door is locked.

  I look in through the window and the kitchen is empty. I try the door and it turns. They were obviously expecting the dogs to protect this door. Very careless. A good sign. I open the door and step into the house. The microwave is on and something is slowly turning inside. I look at the display panel on it. In thirty seconds it will ping.

  I pull open the side door and step into the pantry. The microwave pings. Through the slit I see a bald hulk of a man come into the kitchen. Chest to chest he might have three inches on me. He takes his food out of the oven and opens a drawer, the engorged muscles in his meaty arms flexing. He has size but I have speed in both feet and hands.

  While the three-hundred-pound gorilla is riffling for cutlery, I slip out, my body seeming to act without conscious thought when I bash him over the head with my champagne bottle. I’ve been in a lot of bar room brawls and nothing beats the solid weight of a champagne bottle.

  Unlike the Hollywood movies where the sugar syrup bottles smash into a thousand pieces, the champagne bottle stays completely intact. There is nothing more than a dull thump when the bottle makes contact with his skull, but his massive legs give way under him and he drops to the floor. I hook my wrists under his armpits and drag him into the pantry. Quickly, I remove the plastic cover from the tranquilizer syringe, and stick the needle into his bulging arm muscles.

  Strange. He has a tooth missing.

  I open the door a crack. No one has come looking for him yet, but they will. I don’t have much time. Carrying the champagne bottle, I slink down the corridor like a shadow. There is no one in the small reception room, but I can hear voices coming from the large main room. At least one male and two female voices. I look in through the crack of the door and see a very young woman. She can’t be more than twenty.

  She is wearing tight pink shorts and a bikini top. There are blue-black choke marks around her neck. One look at her and I know she’s not here willingly. She is sitting on a sofa looking at the two other people speaking in the room.

  I take a big risk.

  I step into her vision. Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open, but I place my finger over my lips. She swallows hard. Her eyes dart first to her left then to her right, and I know instantly that the real danger is on her left. I make a beckoning motion with my hand and point upstairs. She frowns and I do it again. She nods, stands up, and adjusts her tight shorts, pulling them down.

  “Candy,” she says. “Can you come upstairs with me for a minute? I need you to help me with something.”

  “What now?” Candy asks.

  “Yeah, I better do it before the customers start arriving.”

  “What is it?” the man asks. His voice is stern.

  “I just need Candy to help me camouflage some bruises on my back with make-up. I just remembered I got Anderson coming today, and he doesn’t like to see bruises that he didn’t cause himself.”

  “Go up with her,” the man orders.

  Silent as a beetle I scuttle back into the kitchen. I wait for the girls to leave the room. When they are halfway up the stairs I steal back into the corridor and walk boldly into the room. The man stands up, his face amazed. I recognize him from Kaja’s description. The big guy with the red hair.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he demands as he walks aggressively towards me. His accent is thick.

  I put my hands up as if in surrender, one fist curled around the neck of the champagne bottle. “I’m just here for a bit of ass, mate. I even brought my own champagne.”

  His pale eyes flicker with uncertainty. He’s obviously not the sharpest pencil in the box, but he doesn’t stop moving towards me. When he gets close enough I brace myself, bend at the waist and ram my head into his stomach. Fuck. He’s fit! It’s like driving my head into a fucking concrete wall. Sparks of pain shoot up my neck and into my skull.

  He stumbles, but manages to grab both my shoulders and shove hard, making me stagger backwards. I right myself, wheezing in and out. A look of amusement comes onto his face. Grinning and bending at the knees, he curls the fingers of both hands, motioning me to come forward.

  He wants a little fun. A wrestling match.

  I can hear the girls moving around upstairs. I don’t know yet how many other people are up there so I don’
t have the time to indulge in his invitation. I put the champagne on the floor.

  “No sense wasting good champagne,” I say with a smile, but I’m so high on adrenalin my heart is skipping beats.

  “None at all,” he agrees. “Let the victor have it.”

  “May the best man win.”

  “That’ll be me,” he snarls, and moves, damn fast. So fast that I nearly miss seeing his change of tactic. He slides to the right, opposite to the direction he has been circling and throws a blow with his left hand and tries to hook my leg and hurl me to the ground. I sidestep, whirl and come face to face with him again.

  He lunges.

  I avoid one flying fist only to reel under the impact of another. My vision blurs. Fuck, he got me in the jaw, but I’m so pumped up on adrenaline I don’t even feel the sting.

  He charges like a bull straight into my stomach, but I’m prepared. I tighten my muscles, and he sees stars. I bring both my elbows down hard on his back, right between his shoulder blades. With a grunt of agony, he drops to the floor, rights himself up, and stands swaying. He stares at me panting hard, wanting blood.

  We circle each other. Like animals. He brings his left fist up to fool me into thinking he is about to strike. The real blow waiting is his powerful right fist. I skip back and his flying knuckles miss me. I feel my hair ruffle with the force behind his blow, even as I land my own solid uppercut to his chin.

  He sprays blood and saliva as the flesh around his mouth vibrates with the impact. He staggers back. My fist burns with pain, but I actually enjoy it. It helps banish the surreal feeling and makes me more focused.

  With a look of stunned fury, he lurches towards me to try and bulldoze me to the ground, but I’m ready for him. I crouch to the floor. Rolling clear and stretching forward, I swipe the bottle off the floor. In one smooth action I stand and slam the bottle into the side of his head. Playtime is over, motherfucker.

  The effect is instantaneous. His eyes dim and he starts going down. I catch his dead weight before it flops to the floor. I stab him with the tranquilizer and drag him behind the couch. I tuck his legs up so he is completely hidden.

  Picking up the champagne bottle I go swiftly into the corridor. I start up the stairs and try the first door. It opens. Inside it is crammed full with four bunk beds. The girl who helped me and three other girls are huddled on one of the beds. I go in and shut the door.