Page 44 of Savage Justice

I slant a glance in the direction of the hatch leading to the lower deck. A woman in her mid-thirties, attractive if you like stick-thin peroxide blondes, is framed in the doorway. I assume her to be this shit’s wife, though who knows? Wide-eyed, she swings her gaze from Borys to me, to Tony and back again. Unlike him, she’s fully dressed and looks to have been up and about for hours, though we saw no sign of it in our surveillance. She clutches the rail with one hand and her bony chest with the other.

“Our business doesn’t concern you, ma’am,” I inform her. “I suggest you go back below and stay there.”

“No. I want to know what’s going on. This is my husband, and—”

“Mrs Glodowski. You need to fuck off, right now,” Tony growls.

I suspect she’d have raised her eyebrows if her skin wasn’t already stretched so tight that most facial expressions would be beyond her. “But—”

“Right now,” Tony repeats and takes a menacing step in her direction.

It’s enough to convince her. She ducks back into the stairwell and scuttles down onto a lower deck, out of sight.

Borys has my undivided attention again. “Right. Where were we? Ah, yes, you were coming with us.”

“Like fuck I am. You can—”

I cock the firearm mechanism with a loud click. “I said, you’re coming with us. Now.”

“All right, all right. I’m coming. I just need to—”

“Now!” Tony has edged around behind him and gives him a vicious shove between the shoulder blades.

Borys staggers forward and narrowly avoids ending up on his knees.

I gesture to him to start making his way down the gangplank. This will be his final chance to do it under his own steam.

‘What’s this about?” he demands as he weaves his way onto the dock. “Where are we going?”

“Like I said, I want a word.”

“We can talk on the yacht. Over a drink, maybe a spot of breakfast…”

“Not hungry.”

We reach the SUV Tony and I used to drive down from Glasgow this morning.

“Get in.”

Borys reaches for the passenger door handle.

“Not there. You’re in the boot.”

He swirls around to glare at Tony, who has opened the rear hatch for him. “I’m not fucking—”

I fire off a shot which takes a lump out of his big toe.

Borys yowls and dances on the spot, leaving spatters of blood on the smooth planks of the dock.

“Get in. You’re making a mess,” Tony snarls. He grabs him by the back of his shirt collar and bundles him into the boot. “Now shut the fuck up before my friend here decides to shoot your nuts off, too.”

Borys huddles in a ball, whimpering. Seems he’s taking us seriously at last.

Tony slams the boot shut and gets in the driver’s seat. “So, shall we see what Jed’s hospitality is like?”

The warehouse is less than five minutes away from the dock, but we go the scenic route, circling the city to confuse our reluctant passenger. It’s a good forty minutes later when I throw open the boot. Borys blinks up at me.

“Right. Get out.”

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