Page 33 of Savage Redemption

“Savage is building something,” he informs me proudly. “Been shipping construction materials over.”

I narrow my eyes. “What is he building?”

“I don’t know, but that architect, Darke, has been supervising the loading, so I guess he’s project managing it all. Probably designed the new building.”

“Anything else?”

“Darke is advertising for construction crew. Bricklayers and suchlike.”

“Right.” As it happens, I already knew all this. Nathan Darke is a businessman, not Mafia. He plays with a straight bat and makes no serious attempt to conceal his tracks. I’ve been monitoring the business communications of Darke Enterprises, and there’s not much he does that I’m not aware of. I know that Savage is building two new cottages and an annex to the main castle itself, all sympathetically designed by his favourite architect. He’s very picky, insists on using construction methods and materials compatible with the original structures, determined to preserve the historical character of his property at whatever cost.

Apparently, this particular crime lord has a desire for his own play dungeon, designed to his exact specifications. Who would have thought it? Still, each to his own, and I don’t mind admitting a preference for a spot of light BDSM myself. As long as he doesn’t have Rosie in mind to enjoy the new facilities. That privilege is reserved for me, and I intend to collect. Eventually.

It’s a heaven-sent opportunity. Nathan Darke has designed the works, and I’ll be the one supplying his labour. I already tendered for the job using a company created for the purpose, and I’m confident I can undercut any other construction contractors. After all, I have an interest which is more than purely financial.

My attention is dragged back to the weasel in front of me. “Anything else?” I demand, eager to be rid of him.

“No, boss. But I could?—”

“No need. That’s enough. What do I owe you?”

“Boss, we still need to?—”

“No, I’ll take it from here. Let me have your final invoice by the end of the day.”

He gapes at me. “But I thought…”

I suspect I know exactly what he thought. This job was a welcome meal ticket, and a decent earner without requiring him to exert too much effort. Well, all good things come to an end. I’m done with Leonardo de Podesta.

“That’ll be all.”

“Right, sir. Of course, but?—”

“Are you still here?” I glare at him, and he finally gets the message.

The door has barely closed behind him before I reach for any phone. I need to finalise the deal with Nathan Darke.

“So, we’re clear?”

“Not exactly, sir. Could you just run all that past me again?” Rebecca Bartley — Bex — came highly recommended, the best project manager in the business with a price tag to match. This is our first face-to-face meeting, in my recently established Glasgow office. Her experience is impressive, several major construction projects including residential developments, highways, and a hospital. I’ve hired her, along with a dozen hand-picked labourers, and I suspect her reputation rather than my keen price was what convinced Nathan Darke to award the contract to my company. “You’re saying you actually want to be one of my crew, to work on the job?”

“That’s right.”

“I only use skilled trades. What do you do?”

“I pay your wages, Ms Bartley. That’s enough.”

She regards me with a thoughtful expression, then, “No, sir. It isn’t. Construction sites are dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. You’d be a liability. It’s out of the question.”

I’m on the point of hammering my point home with threats of finding another manager, but she forestalls me.

“I can’t accept those terms, sir. I’m sorry, it’s a matter of safety, you understand. Yours and that of anyone working with you. If you insist, you’ll find there are plenty of less stringent firms out there, firms who may be prepared to take risks. I’m not one of them. I’m sorry, but if that’s all…” She gets up to leave.

“Wait.”

She pauses, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m a plumber.” Not strictly true, but I could see my way clear to rolling my sleeves up and fixing a dripping tap. How hard can it be?

---