Harvey zoomed the map out, fixed the location in his mind then shut the laptop. He reached up to the window, opened it a little, and tossed the laptop out. It landed with a splash in the canal below.

  "You just..." began Fingers. ”That was my..."

  Harvey glared at him.

  "So you're leaving now?" asked Fingers, with hope in his voice.

  Harvey sighed then leaned on the couch opposite Fingers.

  "What's your real name, Fingers?"

  "Jeremy, sir."

  "Jeremy what?"

  "Jeremy Hawes," replied Fingers. His voice quavered, and his eyes were wide open as if they'd been glued.

  "Mind if I call you Fingers?" asked Harvey.

  Fingers shook his head.

  "Good. So is there something you want to tell me?" asked Harvey. "And before you feed me a pack of lies, you should know that I'm extremely good at knowing when somebody is telling the truth." Harvey pulled his knife from the sheath sewn into the inside of his jacket. "And I know when they're playing me for a fool," he finished.

  He turned the knife in his hands, feeling the familiar texture of the wood. It was the same knife his mentor had given him when he was a teenager, and the same knife Harvey had used to extract the truth from many men of all shapes and sizes.

  "I'm waiting," said Harvey.

  "It was her idea," said Fingers. "I just helped." He gestured at the empty space where the laptop had been.

  Harvey didn't reply. He raised an eyebrow.

  "The diamond was all she thought about," said Fingers. His head dropped in defeat. "She said it belonged to her. It was rightfully hers."

  "Lola LaRoux," said Harvey.

  "Exactly. You know the story? It belonged to her family or something. I don't know. But they've been after it for years and when-"

  "Yeah, yeah," said Harvey. "When the diamond was spotted, she convinced you and the other fella-"

  "Dynamite," interjected Fingers.

  "She convinced you and Dynamite to rob it?"

  "That's right. It was all her idea. I just-"

  "Helped?" asked Harvey.

  "Yeah, I just helped. We knew each other from way back. I went to school with Dynamite, we did a few jobs years ago.”

  "Something doesn’t add up,” said Harvey. "I'm a simple man, Fingers. To me, everything is either black or it's white. It either is or it isn't. I don't believe in God. But I would never disrespect someone who does, you understand? That's their choice. Do you see a picture of who I really am?"

  "A simple man," said Fingers. "Black or white. Yeah, I understand."

  "Good," continued Harvey. "Can you tell me the story about when the brothers put the tag on Lola?"

  "The wrist tag?" said Fingers. His eyes somehow grew larger as if he could sense where Harvey was taking the conversation. "We did a job."

  "Tell it like it is, Fingers," interrupted Harvey. "You stole the missing diamond."

  Fingers nodded.

  "Yeah, we did. We stole the missing diamond. But when Lola and Dynamite went in, the Bond Brothers found me in the van hidden in the trees. So when Lola and Dynamite came running from the job, they shot Dynamite and put the tag on Lola. That's when they told her to rob the second diamond."

  "And if she didn't rob the second diamond, they'd kill you both?"

  Fingers nodded. "And our families."

  Harvey began to pace the few short steps from the small dining table to the broken front door, and back.

  "So, who took Lola then?" asked Harvey. "Who threw her in the van the other day?"

  "I don’t know," said Fingers. "It all happened so quick."

  "Yeah, I saw it. One minute you were both there, the next she was in the back of the van, and it was tearing off down the road. I saw it all, you know, Fingers?"

  Fingers held his gaze. His eyes had begun to shine with the inevitable tears that would come soon.

  "Did you see me?" asked Harvey. "Did you see me there, Fingers?"

  Fingers nodded. It was almost indiscernible, but it was a nod.

  "You saw me, and you just drove off. And don't tell me you were scared."

  Fingers stayed silent.

  "You see, that's another thing I can't understand. Why would someone drive off in the opposite direction so quickly after their friend had just been kidnapped?"

  Fingers looked at the floor.

  "And why, if they took Lola, would they not take you as well?" asked Harvey. "You're a witness, right?"

  Silence.

  "And this is the big one, Fingers. Why, if they found you at the first robbery, did they not either shoot you or put a tag on you?"

  "I guess they didn't need-"

  “Didn’t need to?”

  Fingers began to cry. Silent tears fell from his cheeks to the old rug that lay beneath the table.

  “It’s not me they want, is it? They want Lola. She’s got the skills they need. She’s the one who can break into places, not me.”

  “So you set Lola up? You had her kidnapped?“ said Harvey. "You also set me up. You knew that I'd go and get the diamond, didn't you?"

  Fingers nodded.

  "And now, two of my good friends are in trouble, Fingers, and the Bond Brothers still have the diamond."

  A loud sob announced the arrival of a full confession. The waters broke. Fingers crumpled into a folded mess on the couch. He drew his knees to his chest and buried his head between his legs.

  Harvey stepped out through the broken door and reached for a fuel can he'd seen resting on the prow of the boat. He stepped back inside, unscrewed the lid and tossed it to one side.

  Fingers' eyes lit up with horror.

  "I did it to save her," whined Fingers. "You have to understand. Her father knows some men. I told him she was in trouble and we made a plan. He helped me.“

  Harvey waited for the rest of the story. He'd seen it a hundred times. The confessor usually felt glad to finally tell someone their secret. Once they started, the whole story came out.

  He began to douse the furniture in petrol while he waited for Fingers to open up.

  "If Lola got the diamond, I knew they'd still kill her and probably me as well."

  "I'm listening."

  "And if we didn't get the diamond, then they'd still kill us both. But if we gave them you-"

  "Right," said Harvey. "So are you saying you had Lola kidnapped because you knew that I'd go in and rob the diamond anyway?"

  “I’m sorry. You were the only one capable of getting away. If I let Lola do the robbery, she'd have got the diamond for sure. But they'd of killed her anyway, just like they did Dynamite. It was the only way to save her," said Fingers.

  "But what about if I killed you?"

  Fingers shrugged and stared at the floor.

  "I'm dead anyway, let's face it. I didn't know what else to do," said Fingers.

  He looked up. His eyes glowed red and snot ran from his nose in a stringy gloop. He looked wretched and simply stared at the floor.

  Harvey placed the empty fuel can on the table with a loud thud like a drum. He kicked the passport on the floor over to Fingers' feet.

  Fingers saw the movement. He reached down and picked it up, but looked at Harvey with confusion on his face.

  "You're letting me go?" he asked.

  Harvey didn't reply. Instead, he stuffed a wad of unopened letters into the toaster, which sat surrounded by breadcrumbs on the surface of the kitchenette. He pulled down the lever and set the timer to max, then turned the gas hob onto full.

  Fingers jumped to his feet, scrambled over the drawings and his belongings to the door, and disappeared onto the footpath. Harvey gave the boat a cursory glance. Once he was happy that all the evidence would be burned, he stepped out to find Fingers, who was cowering behind a tree on the towpath fifty yards away.

  "What have you done?" called Fingers, as Harvey causally approached him. "That's my boat."

  A loud click cut through the night as the toaster popped up, followed by the rush of gases expanding, igniting, and seeking pockets of oxygen to burn, which combined in a whooshing ball of flame that mushroomed in the night sky.

  The wooden hull of the boat exploded, sending shards of wood high into the air, which landed in the trees and grass behind Harvey.

  "Was your boat," said Harvey, without turning back. "You just died in a very nasty explosion, Fingers. I suggest you get on the next plane out of here."

  "Charlie," called Rupert from the door. "Where are you?"

  "Here," said another voice from somewhere further down the corridor.

  "Well, get your arse in here," said Rupert, stepping back into the room.

  He snatched the bag off Melody's head, but there was no painful stab of light in her eyes. The room was dark with just the dull glow of the furnace flames. The heat from the fire prickled her skin.

  She stared up at Rupert, who stared back with the smug grin of someone who'd won, as his identical brother stepped into the room.

  "Charlie, get Glasgow ready. We're going to the factory," said Rupert. "What were you doing out there anyway?"

  "Not a lot."

  Melody looked around once more and noticed they were in a chapel behind a large curtain. The cool breeze on her ankles came from the curtain. It was a crematorium.

  "What were you doing, Charlie?"

  "Looking at the bodies," he replied. "They're quite fascinating."

  A broad grin ran across Doctor Feelmore's unashamed face.

  "They're what? They're dead bodies," said Rupert. "You aren't supposed to be fascinated by them."

  "What factory?" asked Charlie, ignoring his brother's distaste. "And what for?"

  Rupert shook his head. "I just got a call. Smokey the Jew wants to meet us there for the handover."

  "In a factory?"

  "Yes," said Rupert.

  "You mean the one where-"

  "Mad Bob and Cannon Bill were killed? The very one," said Rupert.

  "Can't we meet at a bar or something? Somewhere a bit nicer. I just had my shoes cleaned."

  "When we're done, Charlie, you'll be able to buy a new pair every time you get one pair dirty. Now, I'm going to finish up here, you go get Glasgow George ready with the van."

  "The van?" said Charlie. "It gets bloody worse. Why don't we go in the Bentley?"

  "Are you going to question my every decision tonight, Charlie? Or can we crack on with this?"

  "Alright, alright," said Charlie. "So who's that then?"

  "Who's what?"

  "Her?" said Charlie, nodding at Melody.

  "That's Lola, you idiot. Who do you think it is?"

  "Aren't we going to stay and watch the fun?"

  "Charlie, you've got problems, you have," said Rupert. "We're about thirty minutes away from being richer than you can imagine, and you want to stay and watch this lot get burned alive?"

  Charlie smiled at the comment.

  "For Mad Bob," he replied. "And Bill."

  "Charlie, we're leaving in five minutes. Get Glasgow ready."

  Charlie huffed and left the room, muttering to himself. Rupert turned to Melody. He lowered himself down in front of her and spoke slowly and clearly.

  "You, sweetheart, are a very stupid girl. You could have had it all."

  Melody stayed silent.

  "Doctor, do we, or do we not, pay extremely well?"

  "Oh yes," said the doctor. "Very handsomely, I'd say."

  "And how long have you worked for me, doctor?"

  Melody began to hate the smug confidence with which the man spoke. His tailored suit, Italian shoes and well-groomed face were results of everything she opposed.

  "Oh, about ten years, I'd say," replied the doctor. "Give or take."

  "And, in that time, have either myself or my brother spoken to you with anything other than the highest respect?"

  "Oh no, sir," the doctor replied. "Always a pleasure, it is."

  "Did you hear that, Lola?" asked Rupert. "Sir."

  He eyed her up and down. His lip curled and he spat in her face.

  "You don't come to South London and mug off the Bond Brothers, sweetheart. When the good doctor here is done with you, your ashes will go in the toilet, and you should count yourself lucky. Mad Bob and Cannon Bill worked with us for a very long time, and you know, every single man that works for us would have quite gladly paid you a visit here to make your last few hours that little more..."

  He flicked at Melody's chin to lift her head.

  "Unbearable," he finished.

  "So why don't they?" she asked.

  "We, as it happens, Lola, we have a more pressing night ahead of us, and thanks to you, we'll be moving on to bigger and better things. So, you know, plans to make, people to see. But not to worry, of all the men that work for me, I'm certain the good doctor here is capable of making sure that my friends Bob and Bill are remembered."

  He leaned forwards and whispered into her ear.

  "He's a sick man, and having a girl with a pulse will be a real treat for him, especially one as pretty as you."

  Melody closed her eyes to block out the thoughts.

  "Isn't that right, doctor?" said Rupert aloud.

  "A pulse, why yes, sir," the doctor replied. "That'll make a nice change."

  Rupert stared down at Melody. "See what I mean?" He stood to leave. From the doorway, he turned and spoke once more. "I'll leave you in the capable hands of our friend Doctor Feelmore, Lola."

  Melody didn't reply.

  "Doctor?" said Rupert.

  "Sir?" the Doctor replied from his place in the corner.

  The tiniest of moments hung between the sentences, but it was enough time for Melody to hear the music and picture Harvey and her on the beach near their farmhouse.

  "Do your worst," said Rupert. "And make sure she suffers."

  15

  The Worm Turns

  Rain pelted the van as the three men journeyed the short distance through the South London suburb. Glasgow George drove the van. Charlie sat in the middle. Rupert was in the passenger seat.

  "We're close, Rupert," said Charlie. "So bloody close. I can almost taste the sangria now. Why do you think he wants to meet here?"

  "I don't know, Charlie, probably because he doesn't want the likes of us at his nice house."

  "Well, what did Smokey actually say?"

  "He said to meet him at Mad Bob's factory," said Rupert. "The instructions are quite clear, Charlie."

  "Yeah but how did Smokey know that Mad Bob was killed there?" asked Charlie.

  "Because it was his men that came and cleaned up the mess," said Rupert. "You don't think I'd have sent one of our own guys to clean up their mates' bod-"

  Rupert stopped, aware that Glasgow was listening.

  "That's what mates do, Charlie. When they lose a friend, they help out. Smokey's family and the Bonds go way back. They've been wasting their money on art and big houses, while you and I, brother, have built a bloody empire."

  "You put too much trust in that man, Rupert," said Charlie.

  Rupert ignored his brother's lack of foresight and spoke directly to Glasgow. He was a stocky man, short, but fierce looking.

  "Are you carrying, Glasgow?" asked Rupert.

  Glasgow tapped the breast of his jacket where his handgun sat in its holster.

  "Always, boss," he replied.

  "You're a man of few words, Glasgow," said Rupert. "But tell me something. If this all works out how it should, Charlie and I will be shutting up shop here in London. We'll have enough money to retire. I think we've earned the chance to see out our mature years in the warmth and comfort of warmer climates-"

  "And the warmth and comfort of several semi-naked women," said Charlie.

  "So, Glasgow, tell us what you're going to do if we fold all this up?" continued Rupert, once more ignoring his brother.

  Glasgow George's eyes didn't leave the road in front. His brow didn't furrow. His face remained impassive.

  "What are my options?" he replied.

  "Your options?" said Rupert. "That's a very level-headed question, Glasgow. So I'll give it to you straight. But remember this before you make up your mind. There is one more job you need to do for us in order to earn whatever you decide."

  Glasgow nodded.

  "The first option, Glasgow, is for you to take over here."

  "Run the firm?" asked Glasgow.

  "You've worked for us a very long time, and I've given the options an appropriate amount of consideration. If anyone was to take over, you're the only man I can see pulling it off. It'll be all yours, Glasgow. Naturally, you'd buy the assets from us at mates rates, and we can work out some kind of payment plan. But other than that, it'll be yours to run as you see fit."

  Glasgow nodded once more.

  "Option two. You carry on working for us. You come with us to wherever we decide to go and resume your role as head of security."

  Glasgow, as ever, showed no preference to either.

  "You'll be well paid, Glasgow," said Rupert, as a sweetener.

  "What's the job?" asked Glasgow. "You said there was one last job."

  Rupert considered how best to sell the idea to a man as ruthless, yet simple, as Glasgow.

  "As I recall," he began, "Mad Bob and Cannon Bill were mates of yours, were they not?"

  Glasgow's mouth turned into a grimace. Rupert watched at the effect the two men's names had on the man.

  "They meant a lot to us too, Glasgow. They worked for us for a very long time and helped us build the empire we now enjoy. I wondered what it might feel like for those of us who knew Bob and Bill so well to get our hands on the man that killed them."

  Glasgow nodded.

  "Is he coming?" asked George.

  "He is, Glasgow. He's coming right for us."

  Glasgow's face seemed to bunch up in the dim light. It was difficult to tell if the expression was of hate, pain, or perhaps a smile.

  "One last act to close off this whole episode, George, and to allow them the rest they deserve. What do you say to that?"

  "You want me to kill him?" asked George.

  "Oh no, Glasgow," said Rupert with a grin. "I want you to catch him. I want him caught, so that we can all take turns in killing him. We're going to kill the fucker so many times he's going to wish he'd never set foot in London. He's going to wish he'd never been born, Glasgow."

 

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