Once a Crooked Man (40 page)

Rocco took out a satellite phone, switched it on and dialed. “We're through customs,” he said succinctly and closed it.

“I need to use that phone,” said Harry.

“What for?”

“To cancel the gig. Here, dial this number.” He took a piece of paper from his pocket.

“What's that?” asked Rocco.

“The hotel in Liverpool.”

Rocco dialed and handed the phone to Harry. A thick Liverpudlian accent answered, “Hello? How can I direct your call?”

“Front desk please,” said Harry, and waited a moment. “Hi there. I want to leave a message for four guests who will be arriving at your hotel in a few hours. The reservation is in the name Murphy.”

“Of course, sir. Not a problem.”

“Tell them the performance is canceled. They should make their own arrangements to return to America.”

“‘Return … to … America.' Got it. I will inform them when they arrive.”

“Thank you.”

Harry had begun to drift to his right. A loud horn from a big lorry behind him blared. Quickly he threw the phone into Rocco's lap and pulled out into the fast lane.

Harry's hands gripped the steering wheel. His options were dwindling. He had sent four good friends on a fool's errand. Lizzie was in quadruple jeopardy. He had committed murder. Next to him was a ruthless killer. Ahead was a distinctly dubious future.

 

77

The front door of 4 Kensington Mews opened as Harry pulled up. The Colonel came out in his shirtsleeves carrying a large black umbrella. Harry wound down the van window,

“Mr. Murphy,” Villiers said jovially. “We meet again.” He turned his attention to the back of the van, where Rocco had opened the rear doors.

“Rocco, my dear fellow,” Villiers said with a broad smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Where do you…?” said Rocco.

Villiers looked in at the cases and then over at Harry. “So that's how you did it? Fascinating. Now then, let's just get 'em inside. Excuse me a moment while I get some rain gear. Would you care for a coat, Rocco?”

“No, I'm fine,” said Rocco flatly. “Let's just get on with it.”

Together they carried the cases into the hallway. The Colonel said, “Stack them up here.” Once everyone was inside, Rocco closed the door.

Rhonda Villiers appeared from the living room with the evening paper tucked under her arm, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“Mr. Murphy! How nice to see you,” she said with a smile. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

Well at least she hadn't changed. The thought of her cakes made him almost accept. “No thank you, Mrs. Villiers,” he answered. “We have too much to do. Maybe later?”

“A rain check. Isn't that what you Americans call it? Very appropriate in weather like this. Oh, do please call me Rhonda. The other sounds so formal.”

The Colonel examined the cases. “The loot is in the linings?”

Harry nodded.

Villiers pulled out the snare drum and took it into the kitchen. The others followed. Taking out a knife from a drawer, the Colonel sliced through the fabric and extracted one bundle.

“Excellent,” he said. “Very ingenious, very ingenious indeed.” Dropping the knife down on the table with a clatter, he took the bundles out. Opening another case, he ran his fingers around the linings.

“All told, how much is here?” he asked.

“What you said on the phone,” Rocco replied. “Give or take a few thousand. We didn't have time to keep an accurate count.”

“Good. Shall we all go into the living room?” Villiers said pleasantly.

Harry was unable to fathom what was going on. Rocco was being helpful. The Colonel was all smiles. The latter was easy to explain. He had just got his hands on three million bucks.

Rhonda was sitting in the corner of the sofa. “All shipshape?” she asked.

“Signed, sealed and delivered,” replied her husband.

“Wonderful!” she replied, getting up. “Let's give these two a drink before we send them on their way. Charles, come with me into the kitchen. I'll get the glasses while you get us some ice. You know how Americans like ice in their drinks.”

Harry watched them go and turned to Rocco. “Isn't it time we called New York?”

Rocco pulled out the satellite phone. Rhonda came back with four crystal glasses and set them on the coffee table.

“Now what will you both have?” she asked, pulling open the doors to a liquor cabinet. Villiers came back with the ice bucket and banged it down on the bar. Rhonda Villiers took out a bottle of Scotch, popped the cork and waved it back and forward in front of Rocco.

He shook his head. “I don't…”

Before he could utter another syllable, Charles Villiers had stepped behind him and whipped an arm around his neck. The phone flew across the room and smashed on the hearth.

Rocco kicked and flailed to get free but the Colonel clung on tight.

Harry got the picture in a flash. Of course! This was the reason for the whole charade. Rocco had come with them to finish what he had tried to arrange in the Mews all those days ago. But the Colonel had moved first. Harry took a step forward.

“No, Mr. Murphy!” said an odd voice.

When he turned, Rhonda Villiers had a gun in her hand and it was pointed at his head.

Rocco fought back. He reached up and pulled hard on the Colonel's hair. This infuriated the big man, so he reached round and thrust his a finger into the closest eye socket. There was a wet sound and the eyeball popped out and dangled on Rocco's cheek. He gave a horrible scream and fell limply to the floor.

Villiers put a knee on his quarry's throat and applied his full weight. With the air supply completely cut off the body flailed briefly and then abruptly lay still. The Bruschetti enforcer was dead.

The Colonel stood up and pulled an antimacassar off the back of one of the armchairs to wipe his hands.

“Charles! Don't use that!” Rhonda exclaimed. “Get a cloth from the kitchen.”

“Later,” he replied. “I'll clean it off later.” He nodded towards Harry. “What about him?”

Mrs. Villiers looked hard at Harry. Gone was the little old lady with the tea and cakes. “We need to keep an eye on Mr. Murphy. He can make himself useful,” she announced. “He can drive us.”

She pointed to the body on the floor. “We can't use the van. It's too conspicuous. We'll take the Escort. I know a good spot where we can get rid of him.”

Harry was unsure who she meant.

“Take his feet,” said Villiers to Harry and folded Rocco's arms over his chest.

Harry put his arms around the buckled knees and the two men half-carried, half-dragged the heavy body across the living room and through the kitchen. With the gun still in her hand, Rhonda went ahead and held open the door to the garage. Inside were both the Jaguar and the Ford. Rocco was heaved into the back of the latter, eased upright and firmly secured with the seat belt. As his head lolled back, wet foam started to come out of his mouth and a foul stench filled the car.

“Start up, Mr. Murphy,” said Rhonda. “I'll tell you where to go, as we go.”

Harry got in and turned the key and the engine sputtered to life. Rhonda Villiers sat beside him as her husband settled himself next to Rocco. Villiers pressed a button on the visor and the garage doors rolled up and over their heads.

Outside, the rain was still pelting down. Rivulets of water ran down the center of the road and into the overflowing drains. The familiar fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror swayed from side to side as Harry pulled out and turned right. The remote was activated again and the door rattled down behind them.

This trip with the Colonel was more bizarre than Harry's last. Next to him was a woman with a Beretta pointed in his direction and there was little doubt she knew how to use it. Behind them was his late minder with his brains seeping out of his eye socket and Villiers beside him happily humming his regimental march.

Harry tried to take note of the route they took but the roads and highways became a blurred and rainy mess. Silence prevailed most of the way other than when Rhonda gave him directions.

Suddenly Villiers gave a chuckle. “I have to hand it to you, Murphy,” he said. “I've been looking forward to my retirement for many a long day. And it is now here. Not only that, I have the means to enjoy it! All thanks to you.” He gave another little laugh and looked over at his wife. “Hell of a way to show our gratitude, don't you think?” he said ironically.

“Be quiet, Charles,” said Rhonda firmly.

“Where would you like to retire?” asked Harry.

“Interesting you should ask,” said the Colonel. “Italy is my first choice. Somewhere in Umbria or Tuscany. A villa with a nice garden would be nice. My wife does not agree with me.”

“Why is that?”

“She has other ideas for the money. We earlier were unable to come to any kind of agreement. She believes we should be more altruistic with our newfound wealth.”

“Perhaps she's right,” replied Harry. “In my experience it's the woman in most relationships who knows what's best when it comes to money.”

“Quite possibly, old boy. But in her case it's not just a matter of dollars and cents.”

“Go down there,” said Mrs. Villiers, indicating left. Harry glanced in the rearview mirror and turned off the main road.

“Did you know my wife has a cause?” continued the Colonel.

“No I didn't.”

“Yes. She's had it for some time. Ever since her father died. Lately it has become somewhat of an obsession. She blames the petty British bureaucracy for his demise.”

“Really?” said Harry, feigning interest.

Rhonda turned to face him. “Yes, Mr. Murphy. And soon they will be taught a lesson thanks to the money you have brought us from America.” She glanced at her husband. “Money that is not going to be frittered away on grapes.” Her eyes gleamed as she added, “Yes, I will give the British something to remember. Now shut up, both of you, and turn up there.”

Harry peered into the darkness where she was pointing with the gun. A dirt road that ran across a common. There were few lights and no buildings in sight.

Mrs. Villiers indicated a gap in the trees. “Go that way,” she said.

The car rattled and bumped over the ruts in the road. The headlights illuminated shrubs and trees moving violently in the wind. A wooden fence loomed a few yards ahead and forced them to stop.

“Turn off the engine,” said Mrs. Villiers. “Charles! Take the keys.”

Her husband reached over and took the keys from the ignition. This time their faces came close and the Colonel's oily hair brushed against Harry's cheek. As he jerked away, the dice swayed again, prompting Harry's brain to recall the first time he saw them.

“
Leave the car in Myrtle Road,”
the Colonel was saying. “
It's close to Hounslow East tube station and from there it's only a short ride to the airport. Throw away the keys. I have others if I need them.
”

The keys. The keys to the car Harry was in now!

He'd never thrown them away! He'd put them in a coat pocket and it was the same coat he was wearing. But that was a long time ago.

Both his captors were getting out of the car. Harry eased his hand down and ran it over the fabric and felt a lump. When he slid his hand in through the pocket opening his fingers closed over a ring with two little keys!

“Get out, Mr. Murphy!” shouted Rhonda, waving the gun. “We are going to need your help to carry him.”

But Harry was ready to help himself. Climbing over to the driver's seat, he put the key in the ignition, started the engine and rammed the gear lever into first. His foot banged down on the accelerator and the Escort shot forward.

Rhonda Villiers was directly in front of the car. She leapt out of the way, aimed the Beretta at Harry and pulled the trigger.

The semi-automatic Beretta Cougar 8000 holds ten rounds. The first seven did minimal damage to the surrounding leaves and trees. The eighth shattered the front window of the car. The ninth accidentally struck Colonel Charles J. Villiers in the base of his sternum and tore open his heart.

The last bullet was the only one to find its intended target. The projectile entered Harry's left arm through the infraspinatus muscle and broke his humerus into several pieces before it passed through surrounding tissue and lodged itself in the doorframe.

As the last of the ejected shell cases hit the ground, the car plowed through the old fence and disappeared from sight.

Harry's life now went by in slow motion. In the rearview mirror he saw Colonel Villiers slam against a tree and drop. Harry felt the thud below his neck and the searing pain that swept through his body. Rhonda was screaming with her hair blowing wild in the wind. Chunks of wood flew up in the air from the shattered fence. The bottom of Harry's world dropped out as the little car plunged downwards and into a muddy pond.

Rocco's body slipped free of the restraining belt and pinned Harry and his seat against the steering wheel, causing the horn to add its penetrating cry to the wild sounds of the night.

Icy cold began to come up around his ankles, legs and thighs. His whole body shivered and he began to lose consciousness. But his brain continued to process sounds and images. The wail of an ambulance. Or was it a police car? Bright lights. A floating sensation. Voices. Shouts. Wrenching metal and the face of Marisa Vargas from the plane. Violet eyes. Above her the face of Detective Sergeant Ivan Sapinsky. His savior! Why was Ivan there? Where had he come from? Of course! He was with the cavalry! He had come to rescue him again!

Harry shook his head from side to side and said hoarsely, “Too late, my good friend. This time you're too late. It's all over.”

Looking upwards, he saw the big red curtain slowly descending as the lights dimmed. When it rose again he heard the applause and instinctively tried to bow from his waist.