Lost City (An Eoin Miller Mystery Book 3) (19 page)

We drove out in the opposite direction, following the curve of the lake away from the hotel and then around the back of the Exhibition Center. It was the long way round, taking us away from the exit roads at first before looping back around toward the train station, but it gave me a chance to watch for a tail. I took the wheel, ignoring Gaines’s protests, and kept my eyes on the rearview mirror while she talked.

“You think they want to buy the casino out from under me?”

“You’ve been set up. It’s their money you were going to use to buy the casino, right? They let you run around, setting up the deal, smoking out the fixers and organizing the contracts, and now they’re going to cut out all the middle men. And women.”

A bridge took us over the railway tracks while we both watched a plane take off from the runway ahead of us. As we hit the first of the many small roundabouts that made the airport so difficult to navigate, I slipped into the lane to lead us toward the M42, which would give us a clean run back to the Black Country.

“Can’t go home yet,” said Gaines.

I stared at her as she gestured to the sign for Birmingham.

“Are you serious?”

“I’ve still got a meeting with my money man.”

“No way. We’re going back to our own patch.”

She lowered her voice. “Which one of us is the boss?”

“All right. But if I see trouble, we’re running.”

I looped round the roundabout again and turned back on the way I had come, this time ignoring the airport turnoff and heading straight toward the city. Soon the sides of the road filled with houses, restaurants, and car showrooms, but I still had one eye on the mirror.

“Now you’re going to tell me how you know so much about the cartel’s plans,” she said. “I know you’re not in with them, but you seem very sure of what’s going on.”

I’d known it was only a matter of time before she asked. I really didn’t want to tell her. Not because it was bad news, but because I knew it hadn’t been my place to keep it from her.

I took a deep breath. “The cartel contacted your father. They said if we didn’t find the leak, they would kill you. And, well, I guess I’ve found the leak.” My voice sounded as nervous as I was feeling. “But that’s not going to help, because if we do tell them who the leak is they’ll still want to kill you.”

She stared at me. I kept my eyes on the road but I could feel it. A mile passed. Two. Then she spoke, and I’d never heard her speak so quietly. This was a level of temper I’d never seen, and I’d seen her kill someone. “How dare you. Both of you. You want to blame this on me? Make it my fault that you’ve been lying to me?”

“No, I—”

“Shut up. You’re just like him. Them. All of them. Deciding what I can and can’t face. You have no right.”

The silence again. It stretched out. I lost my nerve and tried to fill it, tried changing the subject, anything to deflect the anger and take us back to where we’d been. “So how were you going to launder that much money anyway?”

I heard her breathing for a moment, biting back on the anger, and then she let out a sigh. “Same way everyone else does these days. A football club.”

“How?”

“I’ve been buying up shares in a lower league club, small chunks over time, nothing that would raise a red flag. The cartel was going to come in and buy me out, and because it’s football nobody will bat an eyelid when they pay way over the odds. It’s an inflated market anyway, and their front men will just distract people by talking about ambition for the club and big money signings, maybe getting a new manager in. When the deal went, I’d sell my shares and walk away with truckloads of clean cash.”

I didn’t even pretend to doubt the plan would work. There had been enough strange buyouts in football over the past decade that money laundering was the sanest explanation. Not for the first time I felt out of my depth at this level. I would rather stare down an angry drug dealer with a knife than sit in on a business meeting talking about mergers, assets, and liquidity.

“I need this.” Gaines filled the silence. “Just a few more days to sign these deals, and I’m out. The family is out. A few days is all we need.”

I sat in silence. This wasn’t a two-sided conversation; she was trying to convince herself rather than me. Her tone betrayed her—she already knew the deals were dead. This had all been one long con. If she’d spent the last few years lying to everybody to find a way out, and then that way out was taken away, all she was left with was lies. It made me think of Laura. She was caught in the same trap. Both of them had been using the ends to justify the means. I’d been far less complicated; I’d taken to lies just for the sake of an easy life. What did that make me?

I saw Gaines staring at an upcoming road sign that marked the turnoff for Solihull. We were miles past Solihull at that point, but taking that turnoff would lead us back away from the city and we would be at her father’s house within ten minutes. I watched the back of her head and wondered, does she spend as much time as me trapped in her own thoughts?

I thought about finally asking the only question that mattered. Then I chickened out and asked a different version of it. “When you said I’d be the only person who wouldn’t be mad at you, what did you mean?”

Our eyes met for longer than should have been allowed giving that I was behind the wheel of a moving car. But I couldn’t read her emotion.

“You know why.”

Follow that up
, I told myself.
Follow it now.

I nodded and turned my eyes back to the road.

Up ahead the tall buildings of Birmingham began to rise up out of the ground to catch the sun. The city showed no signs of the financial problems that had hit the rest of the region. Urban investment had continued, and newer and taller buildings were being thrown up all the time. Each time I visited the city I needed a moment to get my bearings as I drove between buildings that hadn’t been there before, or passed through a new junction. Gaines was directing me on a route where I didn’t recognize either the roads or the buildings, and we skirted the edge of the city until we stopped at a small street by the children’s hospital. We got out and walked though a new plaza with water features and shrubbery.

“I don’t recognize any of this.”

She smiled from beneath a large pair of sunglasses she’d slipped on while I wasn’t looking. “It’s exciting around here at the moment. So many investors are developing while labor and materials are cheap.”

She pointed across the plaza to an older building, something that seemed more familiar, and once we were alongside it I had my bearings. We were heading toward Colmore Row, the city’s traditional seat of power, where bankers and lawyers hid away from the world in Victorian buildings like they had for centuries.

Gaines noticed my limp and nodded at it.

“I have no idea.”

“You just woke up with a leg injury?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay,” she said, drawing out the word.

We walked along Colmore Row, with gray brick buildings on our right and the cathedral on our left, amongst an odd mixture of skater kids and people in business suits. At the end of the street were the older buildings, now protected by conservation orders that prevented even the multinational banks from having their way. We stopped outside the old Grand Hotel building, and Gaines turned to face me.

“Stay here.”

She walked up old stone steps and through the grand front entrance. I walked over to take up a position beneath the shade of a tree, leaning against the metal railing that surrounded the cathedral grounds. My hope was to get a good view of anyone approaching the building, but all I really did in the end was watch the teenage girls with their green and purple hair, and pretend I wasn’t staring.

Women.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts, finding Laura and dialing.

“I think we should talk,” I said when she answered. I was searching for the right words.

“About?”

“I just had a long talk with Gaines. She told me about being your CI, that I’ve had you wrong the whole time. Why didn’t you tell me?”

There was nothing but the digital sound of the phone connection. Maybe she was also searching for the right words. We create technology that can connect people who are thousands of miles apart, but we can’t come up with anything that makes connecting any easier.

“Listen, I wanted to say—” I breathed in then let it out again. “I’ve been—”

“I know, don’t worry about it. Gaines tell you any more?”

“Not yet. She’s in with her money guy.”

I realized I couldn’t bring myself to tell Laura that Gaines was planning to back out on the arrangement. A warm lump of something climbed up my throat to stop me. The same feeling had also stopped me from telling Gaines that Laura and I had been seeing each other again. Stuck at a crossroads without a guitar. I wondered if there would be a parade on the day I figured myself out.

Gaines stepped out of the doorway and scanned the street for me before walking down the steps. She looked flustered, which reminded me just how deep the shit around us was. I told Laura we’d speak later and killed the call as Gaines reached me. She flexed her jaw and rocked on her feet a little as she stood beside me. She was staring at the cathedral, but I could see she was fighting for control.

“You were right,” she said. “They’re cutting me out.”

“What happened?”

“They’ve moved for the football club. It’s going to hit the news in an hour, big splash in the papers. But they’re doing the deal at a lower offer, at the PLC’s current share value. I’ll just get my investment back. It’s nowhere near enough for me to buy into the casino.”

I nodded for us to move and then started walking back in the direction of the car. I had a bad feeling about standing in one place too long.

“If they’ve lied to you about the casino and the football club, we need to assume they’ve lied to you about your territory. They’re going to have moved on that, too.”

She nodded but didn’t speak.

We both felt the trap snapping shut around us. It had been sprung to perfection.

“Listen, this is it. They get everything. You’ve wrapped up your territory and businesses into a neat little package for them to take over, and you’ve done the legwork on smoking out the deal for the casino. They’re even getting a football club in the bargain.”

“We need to get back to Casa Mia. We’ll call Claire and Ross on the way, put the crew together.”

“Chuckles? Hold on. We’re not ready. We’ve spent two years turning everything into a business, and we don’t even know if people like him are still loyal to us or sold out already. Besides, are you sure you want to take them on? If we don’t have enough muscle to think about Dodge, how are we going to think about the cartel?”

She blinked a few times. Then set her jaw firm. “If people choose to stand against us, that’s their problem. If they want me to be a criminal, let’s show them just how much of a criminal I can be.”

We crossed the plaza and rounded the corner to where we’d left the car. At the top of the road I froze. The road was on a hill, with Gaines’s car parked at the bottom. And nestled behind it, idling at the curb, was the dark car from the hotel. Branko was leaning against it. He smiled and nodded at us. Then he stood up from the car and waved at someone I couldn’t see.

The Midland Metro is a light rail tram system that runs between Birmingham and Wolverhampton. It had once been part of a grand plan to connect the whole region with a tram system, around the same time that a similar line was being proposed in Manchester. As with everything else in the region, though, the money ran out. Only one part of the network had ever been built.

I led Gaines down to the escalator at Snow Hill, the station where the tram line terminates in Birmingham. When it had first been opened it was the last building in the street, the point where the wealth and offices changed to vacant wasteland and roads. Now it was fenced in between tall glass buildings. Gaines followed behind me with the slight lag of someone who had no idea where we were going. She’d probably never been on the metro before.

How the other half live
.

I paid the conductor for two fares to Wolverhampton and then pushed Gaines to the front of the tram, settling into seats that faced back into the tram, from where I could watch everyone else that got on.

Shoppers.

Students.

Teenagers talking on mobiles.

Old people carrying groceries.

The tram rang out a signal that the doors were about to close, and just as they did I saw someone jump on board at the far end. The figure was obscured by metal railing and passengers. I kept my eyes on the outline of the person as the tram pulled away.

We picked up speed as we left Birmingham—the tall buildings moving by us—but then slowed down as we entered a tunnel leading to the Jewelry Quarter. As the tram darkened I saw the figure move out from behind the railing and slip down into a seat closer to us, but I’d still not seen who it was. I kept my eyes on him, and now Gaines had noticed I was staring and her eyes were flicking from me to further down the tram, trying to spot what I was fixed on.

The figure leaned forward as we came out of the tunnel and into the station. It was just a drunk-looking teenager, trying to fiddle with the laces of his Converse trainers.

My mobile started to ring. The caller ID said it was Matt.

Shit.

Gaines saw me staring at it. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Branko.”

“Answer it.”

I clicked to receive the call and put the phone to my ear.

“Mr. Miller, why did you run? I was looking forward to a chat.”

“Sorry, we have meetings to get to.”

I heard a static-filled chuckle. “I admire your effort, really. I would like to speak to Ms. Gaines, please.”

Gaines had been watching me the whole time. She must have read the request in my eyes because she nodded and held out her hand, taking the phone from me. She grunted a few times,
uh huh, mmm
. Then she said, “Yes.” And then her voice dropped to its frosty depths.

“Mr. Branko, is it? Listen. You can try, and you can fail, but you cannot assume to threaten me.” She disconnected the call and handed the phone back to me. “Nice guy.”

“What did he say?”

“He says I’m not making it back to Wolverhampton alive. The usual. Like he’s the first to think he can take me out.”

I nodded. “I’m sorry your plan didn’t work.”

Gaines sat in silence with her arms folded, staring out the window at the train track running parallel to the tramlines. I saw movement at the other end of the tram, someone standing up from a seat, and looked up to see Branko. He smiled at me and began stepping toward us.

The tram slowed down as it pulled into the Benson Road station, the tall buildings and privilege of the city having given way to terraced housing and winding streets. I stood up and signaled for Gaines to follow, darting for the nearest door just as it opened. I stood in the doorway with Gaines hard on my shoulder and looked down the tram at Branko. He had stepped to the door nearest him and was waiting for my move. I leaned forward as if to step off, and saw him tensed, ready to follow suit. I jerked forward and he stepped off the tram, but I pulled back, bumping into Gaines.

The tram driver let out the three loud electronic beeps to indicate the doors were about to close, and Branko stepped back on. We stayed rooted to our positions as the tram picked up speed briefly, going under a few short bridges before slowing down for the next stop.

Winson Green.

To most people Winson Green was known for its prison. To me it was known for Black Patch Park. The park was the only remaining sign of the large Romani community that had lived on the land here for half a century, before they’d been evicted in the early nineteen hundreds. My father still insisted that Charlie Chaplin was born on the Black Patch at the same time as my father’s grandfather, despite all evidence to the contrary. The original Romani settlers were the only reason the park still existed, because if they hadn’t been there for so long, it would have been lost beneath another factory or foundry.

The tram pulled into Winson Green, and the doors opened. I stood still, smiling at Branko, daring him to make a move before we did. People pushed passed, making tutting noises and moaning to each other about how rude we were, not daring to say anything to us. I took Gaines’s hand in mine and stepped out onto the platform and saw Branko follow suit. As the warning sounds rang out, I stepped back on board, pulling Gaines with me. Branko stood on the platform, staring at me and trying to read my thoughts. As the doors started to slide closed he gave in and stepped back on. We stepped off. I waved at him as the tram began to pull away, then turned away and headed down the steps.

I heard the tram stop a few hundred yards down the line and didn’t want to think about what Branko had done to make that happen. I turned left onto Handsworth New Road and started walking fast.

Gaines pulled back. “Here? You know where we are, right?”

“Relax. I know what I’m doing.”

I hoped I did, anyway.

Handsworth was Dodge’s territory, and leading Gaines down these steps was as good as leading a soldier across enemy lines. It was the most overcrowded area of the second city, but you’d find little in common between this area and the tall gleaming buildings of downtown which rose up only a couple miles to the south. This ten square miles of council houses, flats, and terrace streets had taken in generations of immigrants of every race, religion, and class imaginable, all thrown together and expected to get along. The few main roads were traditionally used to mark the boundary points for local gangs. The area had seen massive riots every decade for the last thirty years, and one of my training officers on the force had been a Brummie who had worked on at least two of them. He’d told me that to walk around Handsworth and the Lozells after dark was to see every problem in Britain.

Up until the turn of the decade, the area had been loosely and quietly controlled by two main gangs: the Meatpackers and the Watsons. After a few high-profile shootings, the national media ran with the two names just long enough to sensationalize what was going on. Soon every kid in the city wanted to claim to be part of one gang or the other. Each had stories of epic violence and mythical confrontations; each wore colors and gave its members street names. The national media went away again soon enough but the problem was only just beginning.

A Police Intelligence unit, along with local cops and some community groups, worked to take down the two gangs, and succeeded in putting enough of the senior figures behind bars to shut them down. The remaining members fractured into groups, and expanded by pulling in street kids who were armed and angry, and these grew into new gangs named after streets or postcodes who guarded their tiny little kingdoms with steel and violence. They all looked across the border into our territory, at the organization and money, and they wanted a piece. None of them had been organized enough to take a shot at our borders, though, so it had been easy enough to keep them out.

Then Dodge came along.

Not long after Gaines took out Channy Mann, we started to hear the name. Some new kid, with a shiny new street name. First he was a wannabe, then a leader of one gang. Then he started pulling all the gangs back together, creating a new generation that combined the best of the Meatpackers and the Watsons into one gang with a single leader. If Becker had been right about the bounty on Gaines’s head, then I was as good as delivering her to them.

But my trump card was that I knew who Dodge was. It was why I’d refused to suspect him as a killer, and why I was holding on to that feeling now. I was also gambling that the cartel were as wary of the gang as we were. I was betting that Branko and the cartel wouldn’t have good contacts with Dodge’s people. His territory was the last place Branko would want or expect us to lead him, and I didn’t have to worry about anyone stabbing us in the back because around here they wanted to shoot us in the head.

I led Gaines to Barn Lane and into a snooker club called Scooter’s, one of the most infamous of the old Meatpacker hangouts. The club had traded hands several times over the last few decades but had always had a rough reputation. In truth, very little snooker playing went on. I’d been here a number of times in the past to talk to the old gangs, but more recently I’d driven by a couple of times to confirm my suspicions about Dodge’s true identity.

I walked into the front entrance, which led to a hallway with photographs and framed certificates of prizes the club had won in snooker and pool leagues. There was a door at the back of the hallway, and I motioned for Gaines to hang back while I went inside. I stepped straight into darkness. Pool and snooker halls had lost something since the smoking ban; there was no longer a haze of cigarette smoke hanging at head height. This one had replaced the old atmosphere with graffiti on the walls and hip-hop music playing from speakers somewhere out of sight. I couldn’t pretend to know what the track was, but it was loud enough to cover the sound of gunshots. Looped drums, a driving bass, and shouted lyrics detailing poverty and discrimination.

To my left were a line of gambling machines and then the old-fashioned wooden bar, behind which stood a barman pouring a pint for an old black man in a leather deerstalker. He gave me the quick once over and nodded. I stepped further into the room and then Gaines stepped in after me—too soon. The barman stopped pouring a drink to stare at her, his right hand disappearing below the counter. Somewhere in the darkness I heard the unmistakable metal-on-palm sound of a gun being picked up. Four men stepped in close around us—three black and one Asian, each showing the color purple somewhere on their clothes. None of them was carrying a gun, so that meant there was a fifth person behind them somewhere, and the barman to my left, who still hadn’t moved his hand. The old man stayed on his stool, staring away from us and sipping at his beer.

I cleared my throat. “We want to talk to Dodge.”

The Asian kid nodded at us in a challenging way, but they were staring at Gaines rather than me. “Fuck you doing here?” he spat out.

One of the others smiled slowly. “
Long
way from your own patch.”

Gaines stepped around me to stand in front of them, raising her chin to go eyeball to eyeball with the Asian. “My own patch is wherever I decide it is.”

“You know I could get rich killing you right now.” The Asian kid stepped forward, leaning in, but Gaines didn’t give any ground.

“Whatever you’re thinking, it won’t go well for you,” she said.

He smiled at her, but stepped back a little. “Your man here going to get your back?”

“Why would I need him to?” asked Gaines. “You going to be a problem?”

“Filo, relax.” The voice came from behind the group. Low, calm, and confident. “If they want to see me, let them see me.”

The four kids stepped aside, making room for the new voice. This was Dodge. The big bad. He was a few inches shorter than the others, but his well-built shoulders showed he was the one with the muscles, a wife beater stretched tight across them. He stepped between them with the easy confidence of a young Muhammad Ali. He raised a gun without pointing at anyone, then nodded at Gaines. They had met once before, when he’d been part of Channy Mann’s crew. I wondered if she remembered him. That felt like a lifetime ago.

Dodge took another step closer and let his cold gaze shift from Gaines to me. His face thawed into the vaguest hint of a smile, not enough for his boys to see.

“What you doing here?” he said.

“Hey, Boz.” I stepped forward and put my hand out for a shake. “We need your help.”