The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (26 page)

Snow realised what he’d done and hurriedly put the knife away. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

McKinley patted him on the shoulder. ‘Go home.’

Snow nodded and walked slowly away, his head down. McKinley watched him go, then went back to the Lexus.

∗      ∗      ∗

 

George Kay had closed Lapland to the public and broken open several dozen cases of his best champagne to celebrate Terry’s homecoming. Most of the dancers had been invited, though they were under orders to dress conservatively out of respect for the large numbers of wives who were expected to be in attendance.

More than two hundred people shouted and cheered as Kay walked out on to the stage, where a banner reading ‘
WELCOME HOME TERRY
’ had been strung between two of the silver poles. Kay tapped the microphone, whispered, ‘Testing, testing,’ and then shouted for quiet.

The crowd gradually quietened, albeit for the occasional popping of a champagne cork.

‘It’s true what they say, isn’t it? You can’t keep a good man down,’ said Kay, loosening his tie. ‘And they don’t come any better than Terry Greene. Come on, Terry. Get up here!’

Terry climbed up on the stage, accompanied by a loud cheer. He raised both his arms in the air in a victory salute. The crowd burst into applause. Kim Fletcher fell back off his chair and crashed to the ground. Pike and Russell pulled him to his feet and Fletcher waved apologetically at Terry and mouthed, ‘Sorry.’

Terry laughed out loud. He stood basking in the applause for a full minute before waving his arms for silence. ‘Shut up, I’ve got something to say!’ he yelled.

The audience cheered all the more and Terry grinned across at Sam, who was sitting at a table with Richard Asher and Laurence Patterson. She smiled back and raised a glass of champagne to him.

Eventually the audience stopped applauding and Kay handed his microphone to Terry, who walked to the centre of the stage, picked out by a spotlight. ‘I really want to thank you all for your support,’ he said. ‘There were times over the last few weeks when I thought I’d be spending the rest of my life behind bars.’

There were shouts of ‘No way’ from Fletcher’s table.

‘Seriously. It’s at times like that when a man finds out who his friends really are. And I found you lot.’ The audience started to applaud and Terry had to shout to make himself heard over the clapping. ‘I guess that means I’m fucking stuck with you!’

Everyone cheered and glasses were raised in salute.

Terry waited for them to go quiet again. ‘And for those of you that are wondering . . .’ He paused and patted his backside. ‘Yes, I’m still very much a virgin.’

The audience burst into laughter and there was more applause.

Terry waved for silence, then pointed a finger at Patterson. ‘And to you, Laurence, I can’t thank you enough.’

Patterson raised his glass to Terry. ‘My bill’s in the post!’ he shouted.

‘Yeah,’ said Terry, ‘and my cheque’s in your mouth.’

There was more laughter and again Terry called for silence.

‘But there’s one person here I owe everything to. Without her, well, she knows what she did. And how much I owe her. Sam, get on up here. Come on.’

Sam shook her head.

‘Come on!’ shouted Terry. Sam smiled but shook her head again. There were cries of ‘Go on, Sam’ from all around her table. She waved her hands in front of her face.

Terry walked towards her, wagging his finger at her. The spotlight moved to pick her out, and she shaded her eyes with one hand.

‘Don’t make me come down there and get you!’ warned Terry.

Sam stood up amid thunderous applause. She threaded her way through the tables towards the stage and Terry helped her up. He stood with his arm around her, acknowledging the applause and cheers.

‘I want you all to know that I love this woman. She stuck by me when I needed her, she kept the family together, she did what she had to do.’ Terry put his hand on his heart and looked into her eyes. ‘I know that I haven’t been the easiest man to live with over the past few years, Sam, and hand on heart I apologise for that. I’m going to make it up to you, I promise.’

Sam looked at him, still embarrassed at being on the stage. He reached over and stroked her cheek as if trying to coax a smile from her. Slowly she began to shake her head, then a smile broke across her face. Terry leaned towards her and kissed her, full on the lips, and the audience went crazy, shouting and clapping as if the curtain had just gone down on a West End show.

‘I’ve one last request,’ said Terry.

‘I thought that was only for the condemned man!’ shouted Fletcher.

‘Will someone put Kim on the next bus home,’ said Terry. ‘Seriously, Sam, how about a song? How about a song for me?’

Sam shook her head.

‘Come on,’ he said. He dropped down on one knee and offered her the microphone. ‘Please. Sing.’

‘No,’ she hissed. ‘It’s been ages.’

The audience started shouting for her to do as Terry asked, and she reluctantly took the microphone from him. ‘You’ll pay for this,’ she whispered, but Terry just grinned. A backing track started. George Kay gave her a thumbs-up from the side of the stage where he was standing by the sound system. Terry stood up and left her alone on the stage.

Sam fluffed the first few words but she was soon on top of the song, amazed at how quickly the phrasing came back to her. She hadn’t sung professionally for more than twenty years, though she’d often been made to perform at social occasions. Luckily her audience were usually so inebriated they never noticed when she forgot the words or lost the tune.

Terry went to sit with Asher and Patterson and he raised his glass to her from the table. Sam walked to the edge of the stage and stood singing to him. It was almost like the old days, she thought. The days before she’d caught him having one affair too many. The days before she’d kicked him out, the days before he’d gone to prison on a murder charge. The days before she’d become a drug importer and gang boss.

As she sang she caught sight of Andy McKinley standing at the bar at the back of the club. He was looking at her, his face impassive as if his mind was elsewhere. Sam flashed him a smile and winked but McKinley didn’t react. He seemed to be looking straight through her. It was an uncomfortable feeling and Sam felt a cold shiver run down her back.

She was on the last verse when suddenly the lights went on and the music died mid-note. A uniformed policeman and two policewomen walked through the club towards Terry’s table. There were jeers and catcalls from the audience but the police made straight for Terry. Sam’s heart sank as the heavily built male officer walked up to Terry and put a hand on his shoulder. Terry sat transfixed, a look of horror on his face.

‘Mr Terrence Greene?’ said the officer. The two female officers, one blonde, the other a redhead, stood behind him. The blonde took out a pair of handcuffs.

‘What the fuck’s going on?’ said Terry.

‘Terrence Greene, I have a warrant here for your arrest . . .’

Terry tried to get to his feet, but the blonde policewoman pushed him back in his seat and clamped the handcuffs to his left wrist.

‘I have to caution you,’ said the male officer, ‘that anything you say may be taken down . . .’

At that, the policeman turned to the redheaded policewoman, grabbed the bottom of her skirt and ripped it off, revealing stockings and a suspender belt and bright red panties.

‘ . . . and rubbed against you!’

George Kay fiddled with the sound system and stripping music blared out across the club. The three officers stripped off the rest of their clothing, and the blonde sat in Terry’s lap, rubbing her breasts across his face as the redhead handcuffed his hands behind his back. Warwick Locke stood up at his table and shouted something at Terry, and Sam figured that it was probably Locke who’d arranged the surprise. The blonde whispered something into Terry’s ear, but Terry shook his head.

Sam watched from the stage. Terry looked across at her, grinning apologetically, and Sam smiled back even though she didn’t feel like smiling. Seeing Terry surrounded by his cronies, the centre of attention, she wondered if the leopard truly had changed its spots. She looked over to the bar to see how McKinley was reacting to the interruption, but he’d gone.

∗      ∗      ∗

 

The taxi dropped them outside the house and Terry slipped the driver a twenty-pound note and told him to keep the change. ‘Our financial problems are over, are they, Terry?’ asked Sam, climbing out of the taxi.

‘Nah, I’m going to take it out of McKinley’s wages,’ said Terry. ‘I told him he was supposed to drive us home tonight. He had no right disappearing like that.’

The taxi headed down the driveway as Sam fumbled for her doorkey. Terry came up behind her and tried to kiss her neck.

‘I meant what I said, Terry,’ she said, firmly. ‘A nightcap and then you’re on your way.’

‘Nothing like making a man feel wanted,’ said Terry.

Sam opened the door and Terry followed her inside.

‘Great night, though, wasn’t it?’ said Terry, closing the door.

‘It was. One hell of a night.’

‘Yeah. I should get freed from prison more often.’

Sam went into the sitting room and poured large brandies. As she turned to hand a tumbler to Terry, he surprised her by grabbing her and kissing her. With a tumbler in either hand, she wasn’t able to push him away, and his mouth stifled her protests. She fought against him, but then started kissing him back. He caressed the back of her neck as his tongue probed hers and his other hand cupped her breast. She felt her nipple stiffen and she moaned softly.

Terry broke away, grinning. He took the brandy from her and raised it to her. ‘Cheers, love,’ he said.

‘You bastard,’ she said.

‘You’re my wife, Sam. Kissing isn’t against the law.’

‘We’re separated.’

‘I know.’

‘We’ve been separated for almost a year and a half.’

‘I know.’

‘So maybe you don’t understand the meaning of separation.’

Terry sat down and sipped his brandy, watching her with amused eyes. ‘Oh no, I understand it. Laurence Patterson spent a great deal of time explaining it to me. What it meant and what the financial implications were.’

‘You’ve still got the flat?’

‘Are you asking, or telling?’

‘I’m asking, Terry.’

‘Yes, I’ve still got the flat.’

‘So it’s not as if you’re on the street, is it?’

‘Sam . . .’ groaned Terry.

‘Don’t Sam, me,’ she said. ‘If you want, I can get Trisha’s dictionary, just to refresh your memory on the definition of separation.’

‘That was then, Sam. This is now.’

‘You want to move back in, is that it?’

Terry held her look. ‘Do you want me to move back in?’

Sam smiled sadly. ‘Terry, you can’t just storm back into my life as if nothing’s happened.’

‘I know.’

‘You betrayed me. I lost count of the number of times you let me down.’

‘I know, I know. And I’m sorry.’

‘You’re not sorry, Terry. I can see it in your eyes.’

‘Bloody hell, Sam, the amount of champagne I’ve had to drink, I’m amazed you can see anything in my eyes.’

‘I can see it, Terry.’ Sam drained her glass and looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to get to my bed. I’ll call you a cab.’

Terry lay back in his chair and loosened his tie. ‘Sam, love, we’re not going to get a cab this time of night.’

Sam shook her head. ‘We got a cab here without any problems.’

Terry looked at her plaintively and made little puppy noises.

‘You are pathetic,’ she laughed. She stood up and put her empty glass on the sideboard. ‘Okay, you can stay.’ She pointed a warning finger at him. ‘You can sleep in Jamie’s room.’ She bent down and kissed him on the top of the head. Terry tried to grab her waist but she was too quick for him and slipped away. ‘And I’m warning you, Terrence Greene, I sleep with a knife under my pillow.’

Terry closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the chair. Sam stood watching him. His hair was tousled and there was lipstick on both cheeks where the strippers had planted kisses. He was one hell of a good-looking man, and if anything he’d become even better looking over the years. Sam knew why so many women found him attractive; she’d known from the first time she went out with him that she’d always have competition for his affections. They’d gone to an Italian restaurant in Soho and the waitress who’d served them had batted her eyelashes and flashed her cleavage for all she was worth. Terry didn’t seem to notice, his eyes never seemed to leave Sam’s face all the time they were in the restaurant and Sam had loved him for that. A wedding ring on his finger hadn’t made him any less attractive to other women, but, in the early years at least, Terry had always been faithful. It was only after the birth of Jamie that Terry had started to stay out late and Sam had begun discovering the telltale signs that perhaps her husband was succumbing to the temptations on offer. At first Sam had tried to convince herself that it was all in her mind, but she found too many scribbled phone numbers in his pockets, too many unexplained restaurant and hotel receipts, to blame an overactive imagination.

Terry smiled, his eyes still closed. ‘You’re watching me, aren’t you?’

‘No,’ said Sam, and walked out of the room, annoyed that he was still so able to predict her actions.

She went upstairs and showered, and watched herself in the mirror as she towelled herself dry. She dabbed perfume behind her ears as she smiled at her reflection, then stopped, wondering why the hell she was making herself smell good. She put the perfume bottle down. ‘Damn you, Terry,’ she whispered to herself.

She went through to the bedroom, turned off the light and got into bed. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, listening to her own breathing.