‘Suspender belt tonight, what do you think? Black or white?’
‘White. I like the virginal associations.’
She was wearing just the suspender belt and stockings, towelling her hair, breasts jiggling, when she said, ‘Leon’s got a man called Bobby who can find out anything. I think he called in Bobby to give the once-over when he decided he fancied me.’
I went cold everywhere now. ‘What’s Bobby’s full name?’
‘Never heard it. Leon calls him Bobby the Wonder Dog.’
I swung my legs off the bed, reached for my clothes.
‘Mac? What? What’s wrong?’ Alarm in her voice.
I said, ‘Anne, it’s complicated. Leon’s Bobby is likely to be a man called Bobby Hill. After I left you last night, two men sent by Bobby tried to kill me.’
‘Kill you? Kill you? Why?’
‘Goes back a long way,’ I said, putting on my shirt. I sat down to put on my shoes. ‘Sordid stuff. Couldn’t work out how they knew where I’d be last night. Now I think I know.’
Anne came around the bed, put her hands on my shoulders, kissed me on the lips. ‘I’m out of my depth here, Mac,’ she said. ‘Who are you?’
I kissed her back. ‘When it’s over,’ I said, ‘tell you the whole sad story. I have to get out of here. The best thing is for you to leave and then I’ll wait a while and go. Is there a back door?’
‘To the building? Yes.’
‘To this flat?’
‘To the fire escape. Yes.’ She sat down next to me, put her hand on my thigh. ‘Going to be all right, isn’t it?’
I kissed her again, soft, hard, hand on her silky neck. ‘Has to be. Haven’t got to the very slow part yet.’
I stood, found the shoulder holster in my jacket and put it on.
Anne looked at the revolver, looked at me, bit her lower lip. ‘Tell me I shouldn’t be regretting this,’ she said.
I touched her lips. ‘No regrets,’ I said. ‘I’m flying with the angels. Scout’s honour.’
While she was putting on lipstick, I said, ‘If I’m right, the flat is being watched. If you leave alone, they’ll wait for me to come out, jump me outside. If I don’t come out and there’s still a light on in the flat, they’ll think I’m planning to stay here overnight and they’ll come to get me later. So I’ll leave a light on when I go.’
She was ready. I took her face in my hands, kissed her. She kissed me back, took a hand and kissed it. ‘It isn’t just lust-you know that, don’t you?’
I nodded. ‘Yes. I know that. This thing, it’s almost over.’
I didn’t believe that. Not for one instant.
Anne went out the front door. In the kitchen, by the light from the passage, I found a dark dishcloth, tied it around my neck like a napkin to hide my white shirt. I went out the door, quietly closed on the latch, stood against the wall on the steel fire escape landing and looked down on the parking area.
It was dark, half moon hidden by cloud, the only light coming from a long open-fronted tenants’ garage at the back of the property. There were only a few lights on in the building, most people not home yet. In this area, they’d all be working fourteen hours a day to pay for the flat and the BMW and the holiday in Tuscany.
Music coming from one of the flats: Miles Davis.
Anne came into sight briefly, long legs, walking briskly towards her car. Moments later, she reversed out, bathing the yard in blood red light, drove around the corner of the building.
Bobby’s boys would not touch Anne, had no reason to. It was me Bobby wanted.
I unclipped the holster, drew the Colt. Time to go.
I took a step towards the stairs, hesitated, moved to the landing rail, back and right cheekbone against the wall, looked down at the landing below.
Nothing. I leaned my head a little further over…
The tip of a shoe, a black running shoe, in the doorway.
Can’t go down. Can’t go back. The man below’s partner would be in the building now, possibly already in the flat.
I opened the back door, thankful that I’d put it on the latch, backed into the kitchen.
No sound in the flat.
I looked around. Espresso machine on the counter. I holstered the Colt, unplugged the machine, picked it up, solid, heavy, cradled it in one arm, stepped out the door again, closed it quietly.
I stepped carefully to the front edge of the landing, coffee machine held above my head, leant forward until I could see both shoes below.
‘Hey,’ I said, gruffly, urgently.
He came out of the doorway fast, in a crouch, looking up, silenced weapon coming up in the two-handed grip.
Neckhead. I saw his face for a split second before I threw the coffee machine at him with all the force I could muster. He fired, just a ‘phut’ noise, no louder than a clap with cupped hands.
But I was already on my way down, one jump to the intermediate landing, painful contact with the railing, left turn…
Neckhead was on his knees. The coffee machine appeared to have struck him full in the face, blood down the right cheek, the appliance lying in front of him.
He brought the pistol up-one-handed now, not fast, puzzled look on his face-as I dived at him.
Another phut.
I felt nothing, just the impact of crashing into him, knocking him backwards. I was feeling for his throat, found the hand holding the pistol, forced the barrel back towards him, back, back, tried to find the trigger. He was making a strangling noise, I could smell his hot breath: cigarette smoke and meat.
Close up, the sound was loud, I felt the heat, smelt the acrid cordite. His body went limp instantly.
I pulled away, stood up. The bullet had gone in under his left nostril, the back of Neckhead’s head was gone. Even in the dark, I could see the blood spreading out from him onto the steel deck.
It had all taken a few seconds. No-one was shouting. Miles was still playing. Probably a tape on a time switch to deter burglars.
Above me, I heard Anne’s kitchen door open.