He yanked the door open. There were two men standing there. Big men with hard faces. Anderson turned, but before he could run a massive hand clamped down on his shoulder and gripped like a vice.
'Maury, what the fuck are you doing?' called the voice from the sitting room. This time Anderson recognised the voice, but the recognition didn't make him any the less terrified.
The two heavies stepped into the kitchen. The one who was gripping his shoulder had bad acne, his skin pockmarked and rippled as if the flesh had been dragged along an asphalt road some time in the past. He grinned at Anderson, and it wasn't a pleasant expression. 'After you,' he said, and pushed Anderson forward.
Sabatino was sitting in a winged chair by the window. On the table next to him was a large framed photograph of Anderson and his wife, taken on their wedding day. When he'd left the house the photograph had been in its usual place, above the fireplace.
His heart began to race like an over-exerted engine. Sabatino stood up and held out his hands like an old man welcoming a nephew. 'Maury, I'm sorry that we've come to your house uninvited.' He looked across at the wedding photograph. 'I suppose we should be grateful that at least we haven't had to disturb your wife, huh?'
'What do you want?' Anderson asked, all too well aware of how shaky his voice sounded.
'A chat. Just a chat.'
'Why here? Why now?'
The two heavyweights moved to stand either side of Anderson, like huge bookends. He hadn't seen them with Sabatino before.
The man always had bodyguards close by, but never ones as big or as mean-looking as the two standing at his shoulders. 'We wanted a private chat, that's why.'
He became aware of another man in the room, standing in the opposite corner to Sabatino. He was taller than the Italian and thinner, with the gaunt look of a man who had trouble sleeping.
As Anderson's eyes became used to the gloom he could make out a hooked, bird-like nose and hollow cheeks below dark spaces where he supposed the man's eyes were. He was standing like an undertaker overseeing a funeral, his back ramrod straight and his hands clasped behind him.
'My brother,' Sabatino explained. 'Bzuchar Utsyev.'
'Bzuchar?' Anderson repeated. The name didn\sound in the least bit Italian. Nor did the man's surname. And n›hey were brothers, how come they had different names? None of th^'s made any sense.
'Don't worry about it,' said the man in the corner, obviously sensing his confusion. He stepped forward and switched on a table lamp. In its yellow glow Anderson could see that the man's hair was close-cropped and grey, emphasising the skull-like appearance of his head. 'I'm Gilani's brother, and his business partner.'
Anderson shook his head, confused. As far as he knew, Sabatino's first name was Sal, not Gilani. 'Pleased to meet you,' he said.
Utsyev smiled cruelly as if he knew exactly how pleased Anderson was to have him in his home. 'Why don't you sit down?' he said. 'This won't take long.'
'How did you get into my house?' Anderson asked.
'Sit down,' Utsyev ordered, pointing to a sofa.
The two heavies tensed and Anderson knew that Utsyev wouldn't ask again. He did as he was told, sitting as far away from Utsyev as he could get.
It was clear that Utsyev was running the show. Anderson looked over at Sabatino for guidance. The Italian had always played fair with him. They'd built up a good working relationship over the previous three years and had always been on the best of terms. Sabatino avoided his gaze. Anderson's stomach churned.
What he needed was a cocaine hit and the confidence that the drug gave him. He sat with his hands in his lap, all too aware of how sweaty his palms were. He wiped them on his trousers.
The two heavyweights moved to stand at either end of the sofa, their hands swinging freely at their sides. They were wearing black leather gloves. Anderson shuddered. Utsyev walked over to the side table next to Sabatino and picked up the wedding photograph. He looked at it, smiled thinly, then put it down again. 'Your wife is a very pretty woman,' he mused.
'Thank you,' Anderson said.
'No children?'
Anderson shook his head. 'No. No children.'
'I've never married,' Utsyev said. 'Never found a woman I wanted to marry.'
'Ah,' Anderson responded, as if that explained everything.
'So here we are,' Utsyev said.
'What do you want from me?' Anderson asked.
Utsyev sat down on a chair, smoothing the creases of his trousers. 'We are substantial investors in your company. But of course you know that, right?'
Anderson nodded. 'Right.'
'We have a sizeable stake in CRW. We'd like to increase that holding.'
Anderson looked across at Sabatino. 'I know that. Mr Sabatino's already told me what your plans are.' Still Sabatino wouldn't look him in the eye.
'No. Now we want complete ownership of the company.'
Anderson's mouth dropped. 'Say what?'
'We intend to take over CRW. Lock, stock and barrel.'
'Wait a minute,' Anderson said. He leaned forward, his whole upper body tense. 'This is a private firm. We have shareholders, sure, but we're not a listed company. You can't launch a takeover bid just like that.'
Utsyev smiled without warmth. 'We don't plan to launch a takeover bid,' he said. 'We will simply buy out the major shareholders.'
'You just don't get it,' Anderson said, shaking his head sadly.
'It's a family business. Katherine Freeman is the daughter of the founder. She'll never sell the company.'
'It's up to you to persuade her,' Utsyev said.
Anderson turned towards Sabatino. 'Will you explain to your brother that…?'
The slap was almost hard enough to knock Anderson off the sofa. He was so shocked by the blow that he didn't feel any pain. He looked up to see Utsyev standing over him. Utsyev backhanded him across the face again. Anderson fell back, his hands up to defend himself from further attacks. Utsyev glared at him, his forehead furrowed and his lips as thin as razors. 'You're talking to me, not my brother,' he hissed.
Anderson touched his face gingerly. He pressed his lips and his fingers came away covered in blood. Tm bleeding,' he a*i? Utsyev pulled a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and handed it to him with a flourish. Anderson took it but didn't use it. He sat staring at the linen square, a look of amazement on his face. 'You hit me,' he said in disbelief.
Utsyev went back to his chair and sat down again, taking care to straighten the creases of his trousers. 'We are taking over the company, and you're going to help us. We're prepared to offer two million dollars in cash, and we'll take on the company's debts.'
'The company's worth more than that,' Anderson whispered.
'We're not talking about a fair market value,' Utsyev said.
'We're talking about what we're prepared to pay for it.'