Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“Brasil!” I shout. “It’s Alec van den Berg!”
The pauses before he responds seem to just get longer and longer.
“Van den Berg?” he finally responds. “Alec?”
“Yeah. That’s right. Now listen very carefully. We now all know you killed my brother. And, frankly, I’m not happy about that. At all. But, unfortunately, on my current list of priorities, his murder is the second most important thing. What is of far greater concern to me at present is that you have taken a little girl you shouldn’t have.”
“Van den Berg, I—”
“Why you have done what you’ve done, I honestly don’t fokken care. I truly don’t. We, in turn, have now killed your uncle, so the ledger is balanced at the moment.”
“You what? Rory? Angus? What the fuck—?”
“STAY FOCUSED, BRU!” Since I do not bellow often, when I do, it creates quite a bit more of a reaction than when a traditionally shout-y oke does it. I even see Christine jump a little, which, even in the midst of this unfolding tragicomedy, causes my heart to fissure a bit. I don’t want to cause her any more pain. Ever. Not if I can help it. But to get us to a point where we can hope to live free of suffering, there may be a few more scars we have to endure. So, I continue thundering away. “YOU NEED TO TELL ME RIGHT THIS INSTANT—WHERE. IS. THE CHILD?”
The sound of my voice echoing about the warehouse is the only response for additional long moments. Finally, Brasil speaks again.
“First, I don’t know what child you’re talking about. I don’t have anyone’s child. Second, van den Berg, I’m not sure it’s me you should be taking issue with. Was your brother and that bitch who decided to do what they did to my business and my partner.” I look at Christine, who stares back at me, nothing discernible in her eyes. Brasil goes on, “The note for Danny? That was just a bit of fun. Probably shouldn’t have left it. Kept you all guessing. But I had orders to get going if you didn’t show up by a prescribed time. And you were late, so since I wasn’t given the chance to say hello on the day, twisting Danny’s screws was just too much of a good time for me to pass up.”
What? “… had orders to get going?” What the hell does that mean? He’s behind all this. Right? Isn’t he? He’s the one who, along with Lars and his men, stormed the glass house and then rescued me and Lars after we fell from the edge of the cliff and held us captive in that estate all this time. Isn’t he?
Why would he lie about it? Why would he deny taking Andra? Why? Why? Why, why, why? Must be the sheer number of “whys” I can’t answer that are why I let him continue talking.
“Third, now that I know you’re all together? And you’ve apparently killed my fucking uncle?” He grinds that out with such tension in his voice that I’d be shocked if he didn’t lose a filling. “I’m going to come kill you all. The only question you have to answer is how painfully you want to die. And you have a choice in the matter. Rory? Angus? You both there?”
After a moment’s hesitation, both laaities utter a feeble, “Aye.”
“If they don’t both stay alive, woe be unto you, van den Berg. Woe be unto feckin’ you.”
Very dramatic, this one. But I suppose I’m not really one to talk.
“Where are you right now, Lynch?” I ask.
“I’m in Dublin. You’re in Belfast?”
Danny chimes in, “We are. We’re—”
“I see where you are.” He’s surely tracking his cousin’s phone. They’re probably all on the same Vodafone Criminal Family Plan. God, life was so much easier back when we started. Once upon a time, only those with substantial means and bad intentions could do things like geo-track someone. Now, every petty chop-shop owner-cum-human trafficker can do it. I miss the old days.
“I’ll be there in two hours,” he continues.
Eliza shouts, “With my daughter, you fucking cunt!”
There is a brief beat before Brasil repeats, “I’ll be there in two hours,” and hangs up.
Now, for the first time since we got to this place, there is silence. True silence. Real silence. Not a pause, or a breath, or some other momentary hiccup. Silence.
It goes on for long, long moments. If there is any sound at all it might just be the labored panting of the two Lynch laaities as they sit, wondering if they’ll make it out of this situation or not. Finally, when the silence has endured long enough, it is Russell who breaks the spell. He gives voice to what all of us have likely been contemplating in the quiet.
“What. The fuck. Is happening?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The ride back to the hotel feels like what it must be for convicts in a prison transpo on their way to penitentiary. Tense. Uncertain.