Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
So rumors are circulating. Retired? If only it was as simple as hanging up my gun. My knife. Or my letter opener. “Rumors are usually just that,” I say, resting my weight on the cabinet again. There are going to be a lot of disappointed people if that’s the case, but more fool them for assuming. Nothing should be assumed in this world. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”
“I’m not disappointed, Danny.”
Oh, we’re on first name terms now, are we? Interesting. So is the fact he’s not disappointed. “That’s nice to hear, Harry.” I wander over to the chair behind my desk and lower into it gingerly, my curiousness superseding the discomfort. “I was about to offer my condolences.”
He laughs lightly. “For what?”
“I expect things are going to kick off in Miami very soon. Hear me when I say, I’m not the man you should be coming after. I’ll be in touch.” I hang up and look at Brad and James in turn. “Definitely not bent.”
“Definitely?” James asks.
“Okay, he’s not bent.” There’s nothing definite about our world. “What next?” I ask, my palm resting on my chest.
“Goldie wants to draw us an updated diagram with her ladylike, pretty, neat handwriting,” Ringo says, collecting a piece of paper and a pencil and handing it to her. She accepts but growls. And with the appearance of Goldie’s suit comes the appearance of Ringo’s teasing.
“We don’t need a diagram,” Brad says, intercepting and removing the tools from Goldie’s hand, at the same time giving Ringo a warning look. I’m not the only one treading carefully around our she-warrior. But Ringo is the only one who isn’t. Hasn’t he got the memo?
“Won’t everyone stop fucking looking at me like that?” Goldie barks, standing and pulling in her suit jacket, as if to remind everyone that she is, in fact, wearing a suit. Not a dress.
“See,” Ringo grunts, looking at us all like we’re stupid. “She doesn’t like it.” He walks over to Goldie, raises a fist, and jabs her in the bicep. And in return, she launches a punch that would take Wladimir Klitschko off his feet, sending Ringo flying across the office like a rag doll. He lands with a thud, holding his massive nose, that’s going to be even bigger now. Swollen. Probably a pair of black eyes too. “Fuck me,” he moans.
I turn my eyes from Ringo on the floor to Goldie, and I positively hate the glaze in her eyes. “Go,” I order, walking over to her, literally taking my life into my own hands by physically turning her away and walking her to the door.
“I’m fine,” she argues, rolling her shoulders to remove me. “Get the fuck off me, or I’ll—”
“What?” I get up in her face, not aggressively, but a clear sign that I’ll take no shit. She wants to be treated like the rest of the men? Fine. I’m here for it. “Control your urges or get the fuck out of this office.” I’m a fucking hypocrite, I know. “Clear?”
She nods once, and it’s sharp. “Clear.”
“Sit the fuck down.” I’m not angry. I’m not out of patience. I’m merely giving Goldie what she wants. What she needs. Equality. Validation. She resumes position on the couch as Ringo crawls up from the floor, feeling at his nose and checking his hand as he joins her, giving her a curled lip as he lowers to the seat.
Now, where were we? “There aren’t many animals left at the zoo,” I say, perching on the desk. “We’ll assume with the elimination of the Irish, the drugs arm of The Bear’s business has ceased.”
“For now,” James adds.
“For now.” There will be men coming up through the ranks, a mad scramble to fill the boots of Vince Roake. “We still don’t know where the Polish keep the women they’re shipping in.” Or, indeed, how they’re shipping them in.
“Assuming they’re not storing them in the vault at the bank Kenny Spittle managed.” Otto raises his brows.
“They’re women, not fairies, for fuck’s sake,” Brad mutters. “The drugs and guns are or were being kept at the bank. We have The Shark left batting for the Poles, and The Ox, Sandy, and Volodya winning for the Russians.”
Winning.
With the Russian’s heading up the guns side of this cozy little setup, they’re most certainly winning. We’ve failed to take out any of the fuckers at the top of that tree, and now that we know their puppet master isn’t dead? I blow out my cheeks and drag a hand down my face. They must have laughed their way to the bank. Kenny Spittle’s bank. I frown, looking at Otto. “There’s been no action at the bank?” I ask.
“Nothing. No one going in, no one coming out.”
“And Kenny Spittle?”
“He’s still in the container, although his scheduled annual leave is almost up. It won’t be long before colleagues at the bank start asking questions when he doesn’t return to work. Leon’s feeding and watering him daily.”