Page 33 of Red Retaliation
21
Red
LOOKING AT DEL across the desk, I then nod towards the decanter on my drinks shelf. “A glass?”
Del shakes his head. “It’s a bit early for whiskey - even for me!”
Nine in the morning may well be early for most, but not me - not today. Stubbing out my cigarette in the ashtray, I rise from my desk, walk over to the decanter and pour myself a large drink.
I waited a long time last night for someone to bring me the figures after my men returned from their respective cocaine drops. I used up some time by digging out the bullet that I eventually found lodged just over my collarbone. It had gone deep and taken a bit of rummaging around and a few glasses of whiskey to locate it, but I succeeded.
I always do.
The prospect of summoning the quack on my books for times such as this provided me with the impetus to continue. That, plus the pain temporarily took my mind off Arianna, as well as Steve’s death. A bit of fishing wire did the job of closing up the wound, but by 3 a.m. I’d finally lost my fucking patience with waiting.
But lost patience or not, I had to wait for the last two totals to come in.
Now I’ve got them.
I’ve already told Liam and Oscar the results, and their reactions were similar to mine. There was little else said. In the cold light of day, they know better than to push their luck further by banging on about a) any further mention of Arianna, b) Steve or c) my choice to wait for retaliation.
For once, my brothers took the correct route and pulled their heads in by remaining silent. They’re waiting on me for what happens next, knowing they have no choice about it. Nor will Del when he learns the score.
“The skimming...” I turn from the decanter to face Del. “Cal Bennett’s figures were out.”
“Cal?” Del splutters. “You’re sure?”
He sees my slight nod, his face a mask of disbelief, similar to how I must have looked when I saw the proof. “I was surprised too.” Cal Bennett is one of my oldest and trusted men within the firm’s second tier, who’s worked for us for a long time.
“How long has it been going on?” Del asks. “And how much are we talking about?”
My hands clench into fists. Del’s wondering whether this skimming started since I took the reins. It’s something I wondered myself. Did this “trusted” employee think I wouldn’t notice after unexpectedly stepping into my father’s shoes?
But that wasn’t the case. This skimming had gone on further back - way back into my father’s time, which raised the question of how we’d all missed it?
I could not believe Cal would go against me or my father, but the proof was on the accountant’s sheets, leaving me ready to kill the fucker.
I’m so glad I didn’t.
Something didn’t sit right. It didn’t add up.
And then I worked it out. “It’s been going on long enough. As for how much, it’s a lot.”
“The fucking cunt!” Del hisses, getting to his feet. “We must move on Bennett before he clocks he’s been sussed.”
“Ah, but here’s the thing... It’s not as clear-cut as that.” Picking up the sheaf of paper from the accountant, I hand it to Del. “Look at the totals.”
Frowning, Del flicks through the paperwork, paying extra attention to Cal Bennett’s sheet. “Cal’s put down he collected £100k, yet we know he had exactly £120k of gear.”
I nod. “Correct, but...” I fish scraps of paper from my pocket. “I went through Slater’s bin.”
“You went through abin?”
“Well, not a bin exactly. It was in the container due to go for shredding.” I slap Cal Bennett’s handwritten docket on the desk.
Del looks up slowly, the truth sinking in. “What the...?”
I nod, my jaw solid. “Yep, it’s the fucking bean counter behind this! Tom Slater’s on the take, not Bennett. The cunt picked the least likely man to raise suspicions and centered the earner on him.”
