No Tomorrow Page 21

  “I’m nothing like him.”

  Her forehead creased. “Yeah, right. How are you so very different, then?”

  He thought for a moment. “I keep my word. I would never betray an ally.”

  She studied him. “So Alek betrayed you?”

  He nodded.

  “Then why are you helping him?”

  “I told you: I’m not doing it for him.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I remember. It’s all for my wonderful mother. I hope I’m as great as her one day.” She looked away and finished the can of Coke, then tapped her nails against it. “Last night, I saw this moth with only one wing trying to fly. It made me so sad.”

  Victor had no idea how to respond.

  Chapter 44

  London was a twenty-four-hour city. Taxis and buses flowed along its arterial streets all through the night. The bus’s route wasn’t important. After leaving the café they had taken the first that had arrived at the stop. Victor paid cash for his ticket while Gisele had a prepaid travel card she touched against the reader. The driver was an old Jamaican with two thick strips of white hair above his ears. He didn’t hide his annoyance at having to pick up the handful of coins Victor had paid with. A few tired souls occupied seats on the bottom level, all sitting as far away from one another as the seating arrangement would let them. A woman in a green coat looked up from her book at Victor as he passed her.

  He directed Gisele to the back of the bus, where they sat down near a man in work boots and a padded jacket, enjoying the extra warmth generated by the bus’s engine. When the man alighted two stops later, Victor took his seat so he was next to the emergency exit. He gestured for Gisele to follow him.

  “Precaution,” he explained, and she nodded.

  He liked that she didn’t ask him to explain his actions any more than he had to. A group of rowdy young guys boarded and stood in the center of the bus. They had the loud voices and exaggerated movements of inebriation. They laughed and joked about their evening so far and were expecting more fun when they reached their next destination. One looked Gisele’s way and Victor smelled the trouble in the air as easily as he could smell the alcohol and cologne. Even a drunk man could see that Victor and Gisele were no couple, with the age gap and lack of intimacy. He was tall and well built with perfectly styled hair, shiny, tanned skin, and shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal forearms covered in elaborate ink. He took a step forward, swaying under the bus’s movements, holding on to a bar for support.

  No, Victor mouthed.

  The young guy stopped, doing a double take, not quite understanding the situation initially, but his lizard brain knew danger when it saw it, despite the alcohol, and he snapped his eyes away. Gisele glanced across at Victor but said nothing.

  In part to hide his embarrassment and in part on the hunt for further amusement, the young guy with the perfect hair turned his attention to the nearest available alternative: the woman in a green coat who sat near him, reading a paperback book, doing her best not to attract the attention of the group.

  He lifted it from her hands, asking, “What you got there, darlin’?”

  She stiffened under the sudden violation of her personal space and property. The fear in her eyes was as obvious as the menace had been in Victor’s. She pushed herself back in her seat to create space between her and the man with the forearm tattoos.

  “Men can be such idiots,” Gisele said. “Can’t he see he’s frightening her?”

  Victor said nothing. He watched the scene before them.

  The woman in the green coat didn’t answer. The young guy flicked through the book, saying, “Haven’t read one of these since school. Any good?”

  Undeterred by her silence, he took the seat next to her. She recoiled and tried to stand up to get past him.

  “Hey, don’t be like that. I’m trying to be friendly here.”

  He grabbed her by the wrist to pull her back onto the seat and she slapped him.

  “Shit,” he hissed.

  The slap and his reaction stunned the rest of the bus, including his friends, into silence.

  “Give me my book and leave me alone,” she said.

  One of the friends said, “You didn’t have to hit him.”

  “Don’t be such a prick tease,” another added.

  “This is going to get bad,” Gisele said to Victor. “Do something.”

  He shook his head. “We don’t draw attention to ourselves.”

  The young guy with the perfect hair and shiny tanned skin stood and the woman backed away from him, but into his friends. They didn’t restrain her, but they didn’t get out of her way either. He rubbed his cheek and threw the book to the floor.

  “How would you like it if I slapped you?” he asked.

  “What’s going on back there?” the bus driver shouted.

  “Do something,” Gisele said again. “You can stop this.”

  Victor didn’t respond.

  The woman said, “Just leave me alone. I didn’t ask you to sit next to me.”

  “I was trying to be friendly,” the young guy responded. “And you fuckin’ slapped me.”

  “You scared me.”

  “Do I look like a scary bloke to you?” he asked, stepping forward until he was inches from her face, then leaning closer, using his height and size to best advantage, threatening by proximity, making her recoil down and away.

  “Stop that, you dickhead,” Gisele said, and stood. “Leave her alone.”

  She took Victor by surprise and he wasn’t fast enough to stop her. She’d already taken a step forward before his hand had grabbed her coat.

  The young guy turned toward Gisele. “Stay out of it.”

  “What exactly is your problem?” she said in response. “Are you that pathetic you have to feel like a man by intimidating women?”

  Victor tried to pull her back but she resisted. “Let go of me.”

  “No.”

  The young guy, seeing the chance to distract from the insult, laughed. “Looks like this is the party bus tonight, boys.”

  His friends joined in the laughter.

  Gisele turned to face Victor. “Let go of me right now, or this is nothing to the amount of attention I will bring on us.”

  He saw the strength of will in her eyes and released her coat. He knew better than anyone that some battles could not be won by force alone.

  She turned back and approached the young guy with perfect hair. “Get off at the next stop and teach yourself some basic manners. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  Victor stood and moved closer, keeping out of the way in respect for Gisele’s wishes, but close enough to intervene should it prove necessary. Including the tanned guy with the tattoos, there were five. They were young and fit; the latter because they went to the gym to look good, not for health, but building muscle to attract women built strength too. A reasonable level of endurance could be expected, based on age if nothing else, but no fighting experience beyond the occasional street brawl that was over in a punch or two. They didn’t yet know how exhausting real combat could be. They wouldn’t find out either, if it came to it, because it would be over long before they tired.

  Gisele said, “I’m not telling you what to do. I’m telling you what you should do.”

  He frowned, confused and insulted and embarrassed in front of his friends. “Ah, fuck off,” he said, and shoved Gisele.

  Victor was already moving but she snapped out her hand, grabbing the guy’s fist, her thumb across his knuckle line, and twisted clockwise, rolling the fist and wrist and elbow until the arm was pointing up and locked and all the pressure was in his shoulder, trying to torque the joint past where the socket would let it go. Her free hand pushing down against the guy’s upturned elbow
increased the pressure and forced him down until he was on his knees, grunting and wailing.

  The speed and violence of the move stunned his friends, but only for a second. One stepped forward. Then another. The others would soon follow.

  Victor said to them, “Of all the times in your life that you need to make the right decision, this is the most important.”

  One said, “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m giving you all the chance to go home tonight without a detour to the hospital. Take it.”

  They hesitated. He stared each one in the eye, seeing each fighting the internal battle between courage and fear and showing them that in turn he fought none.

  “Let go of me,” the young guy with the tattoos yelled at Gisele.

  “Once you’ve apologized to her.”

  The woman in the green coat, wide-eyed, said, “That’s . . . that’s really not necessary.”

  Gisele applied extra pressure to the lock and the young guy yelled, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

  “And you’ll get off at the next stop?” Gisele asked.

  “Yes.”

  Victor used a knuckle to ring the bell and the bus came to a stop a moment later. The doors hissed open and Gisele released the hold. The young guy with the no-longer-perfect hair struggled to his feet with the help of his friends and they disembarked. Victor didn’t take his gaze from them until the doors had hissed closed again and they were throwing insults from the safety of the pavement outside.

  “Are you okay?” Gisele asked the woman in the green coat.

  She nodded with enthusiasm. “You totally kicked his ass. Thank you.”

  Gisele smiled in response. “You’re welcome.”

  Victor said, “We have to get off this bus.”

  Chapter 45

  What a day. Andrei Linnekin sipped from a bottle of Peroni and took a bite from his take-out burger. He sat behind his desk in the office above his club. He had not gone out to get the food, of course; one of the idiots working for him had fetched it. The idiot was not only stupid but slow. The burger was barely lukewarm. Still, Linnekin was hungry and wolfed down the food. The man he’d sent was one of the ones busted over the head by the asshole in the suit. He looked ridiculous with bandages wrapped around his skull. Linnekin was making him and the others jump through hoops, keeping them on their toes with fear of what he might do in retribution for their failure. He didn’t let on that they would not be punished, that it was he who felt responsible for what had happened to them. He hoped that soon the matter would be satisfactorily resolved.

  Moran had wisely fled the city, if the rumors were to be believed. Linnekin had all sorts of pain planned for him if he ever returned. True loyalty could not be bought. It had to be enforced.

  There were practical considerations too. His men expected him to be strong. His enemies would fear him only if they believed him to be strong. His bosses would remove him if he was shown to be anything but strong.

  He didn’t feel strong, but he kept that to himself. He finished the last of the burger—leaving the gherkin—and washed it down with the rest of the Peroni. A king’s banquet, he thought to himself.

  Commotion from beyond his office door made him sit upright and reach for the sawed-off shotgun he kept behind his desk. He held it out of sight as a precaution. It would not do for his few remaining able men to see him with a gun in hand unless it was unavoidable. If they thought him scared, they would be scared in turn and he needed them to be fearless.

  They had pistols in shoulder rigs or tucked in waistbands, plus shivs, brass knuckles, and an assortment of other tools for killing and maiming. Linnekin didn’t pay too much attention. His only concern was that his men were better equipped than London’s police force. He couldn’t quite believe it when he had first arrived in the city and been informed of this. Don’t insult my intelligence, he had said, thinking he was being played for a fool. Then, when he realized it was the truth: Are they trying to make it easy for us? Imbeciles. He’d subsequently learned about the armed-response teams, but knowing that the regular cops carried nothing more fearsome than a club was a source of constant amusement.

  The door opened. A figure stood in the doorway. A woman with blond hair and green eyes. Her.

  “Hello, Andrei,” Anderton said, pleasant and courteous.

  He toyed with the beer bottle. “I find it funny how you English speakers use that word to greet one another in person when it was invented specifically for use with the telephone.”

  “How educational,” she said, stepping into the room.

  “What do you want?”

  “I see I’ve interrupted your dinner.”

  Linnekin brushed the greasy burger wrapping to one side. “I’m done. Why are you here? You told me that I’d never see you again.”

  “This is true. But circumstances have evolved since our last conversation.”

  “I haven’t got the girl, if that’s what you mean. I delegated it to a man named Blake Moran. I—”

  She interrupted him. Linnekin hated such disrespect, but managed to maintain his composure.

  “I know. I’ve known the whole time. But I’m not here because of the girl. I’m here because I’d like to talk to you about the man who came to see you.”

  Linnekin took his time before responding. She had interrupted him. Now she could wait.

  “You mean the man who cracked open the skulls of two of my men and threatened to kill me? The man who only did so because of the—how did you put it?—favor you asked of me.”

  “There was no favor. You were well paid for your services.”

  “We’ll have to disagree on that,” Linnekin said. “I’m not in the kidnapping business, as I told you before. But you didn’t leave me any choice, did you? With all those thinly veiled threats.”

  Anderton took a seat opposite him.

  “I don’t remember asking you to sit down.”

  She smiled at him. “You must have forgotten your manners. Momentarily, of course. And, yes,” she said, in answer to his earlier question. “That’s the man I mean. He’s caused me a lot of problems tonight.”

  “I’ll shed a tear for you later.”

  She pursed her lips and nodded. Linnekin was glad of any offense he could cause. He both feared her and hated her and was determined not to let this woman think she had any control over him.

  One of Linnekin’s doormen stumbled through the doorway behind her. His face was bloody.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Linnekin. They—”

  He waved his hand. “Just get out.”

  The doorman left.

  “Did you have to do that?” Linnekin asked.

  She smiled. “I assure you, I was most polite.”

  “Can we get to the point?”

  “Of course. May I have something to drink? I’m a little thirsty.”

  Linnekin said, “Sure. My bladder’s full.” He reached for his fly.

  “I’ll let that one go, but only because I know what you’re doing. You don’t like me. I understand. You’re not used to taking orders from anyone. Least of all a woman, yes? And especially not when that results in you being embarrassed in front of your men. But you need to understand who I am. You need to understand that you only exist in this city by the grace of me and me alone. With one e-mail I can have every one of your men arrested.”

  He shrugged to hide his anger and fear. “So what? You have nothing on me. You’re a devil, but you’re a government succubus. You wouldn’t dare coming after me head-on.”

  She considered for a moment. “Perhaps, but why should I when with one phone call I can have your poppy fields in northern Helmand burned to ashes?”

  He stiffened at the threat.

  She saw it and smiled. “How will you explain that one to the bosses back home?”

  Linnekin, teeth cle
nched, exhaled through his nose. “What do you want?”

  “I’ve told you: information about your visitor. Six-two, dark hair and eyes, suit. What is his name?”

  “He didn’t give one.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “He was looking for the girl. He thought she’d been taken.”

  She absorbed this. “What else?”

  “That was about it.”

  “I’m sure there was more to your discussion than that. He killed three of Moran’s men and disabled two of yours. That’s a lot of damage just to ask one question.”

  “He didn’t say who he was and I wasn’t in a position to interrogate him, okay?”

  “Did you tell him about me?”

  Ah, the point.

  Linnekin said, “I don’t know anything about you, do I?”

  “That’s not answering my question.”

  “He had a gun to my head. I was at his mercy. What did you expect me to do?”

  She nodded, false sympathy and faux understanding smeared across her perfectly made-up face.

  “Do you know why I hired you in the first place?”

  Linnekin shrugged. “Because you’re lazy?”

  “Cute. I hired you because I didn’t want any blowback. I didn’t want to be connected. I wanted someone to kidnap the girl for me, someone who didn’t know why and didn’t know who she was.”

  “And your point is?”

  “Now you do. Now I’m connected because you’re connected. My point is that means we’re either enemies or friends.”

  “Which would you prefer?”

  “I think it’s more a case of which would you prefer, Andrei.”

  “What do you English say about with friends like these . . . ?”

  “We also say ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’”

  “What are you proposing?”