Page 70 of The Impossible Fortune
He has taken a jet-ski along the coast and moored it at Playa de Bahínas. There’s a restaurant on the beach that hauls seafood straight from the fishing boats and grills it over an open fire, with olive oil and lemon straight from the mountainous slopes overlooking the sand. It also serves burgers though, and that’s what Danny is having.
‘When can you do him?’ Danny asks, squirting ketchup into his bun.
The man looks at his watch and gives it some thought. ‘Tomorrow?’
Danny nods. ‘And where?’
‘His house is tucked away,’ the man says. ‘I’ll take round an Amazon delivery that needs signing for.’
Amazon deliveries have been the single greatest boon for professional hitmen. Everyone is always expecting one.
‘Then straight round to the next target?’ Danny says.
The man nods. ‘She does the school run at three. I’ll wait outside the house.’
Danny hands the man an envelope. ‘Here’s the first ten thousand.’
The man tucks it into his jacket pocket.
‘I’ll see you here on Wednesday for the next twenty,’ says Danny. ‘Make it quick and make it clean.’
The man nods. ‘Don’t Callum it.’
‘Exactly.’
Danny takes a bite of his burger. It’s a bit cold in the middle, but it’s still good. All being well, he’ll get the call from the police – your wife’s dead, come and identify the body, etc. – and he can fly home on Wednesday evening with the perfect alibi.
He can sell the house (‘too many memories’), leave the boy with his grandad and see a bit of the world. Expand his horizons. Since he arrived here, he’s already met a Moroccan counterfeiter and a German guy who sells fake vitamins on the internet. Travel broadens the mind.
The man stands, and they shake hands.
‘Should have done this a long time ago,’ says Danny.
‘See you Wednesday,’ says the man.
37
On Thursdays they still meet in the Jigsaw Room. But today is not a Thursday, so they are meeting in the hot tub. Ron’s choice.
It’s not often that Ron gets his way, but today he has. He supposes he’s simply in everyone’s good books because of the Lord Townes tip-off.
Ron is drinking a pint, Ibrahim has a mineral water and a plate of olives, Elizabeth has one of the protein shakes that Bogdan has got her addicted to, and Joyce is drinking a steaming-hot cup of tea.
‘Here’s how I see it,’ says Ron. ‘Yeah, maybe Ravey Davey’s done it, he’s got form. And maybe Townesy’s done it –’
‘Don’t call him Townesy,’ says Joyce, blowing on her tea, and then on her own forehead. ‘He’s a lord.’
‘They’re the worst of the lot, Joycey,’ says Ron. ‘The worst of the lot. But this Nick Silver business seems too convenient.’
‘Mmm,’ agrees Ibrahim.
‘Someone tries to kill him,’ says Ron. ‘And fails. A bomb goes missing. Someone smashes up his office, and he leaves you a Post-it note? Help me, help me? Does that all seem above board to you, Lizzie?’
Elizabeth is having difficulty sucking her protein shake through a straw. ‘Hard to say. I don’t love it, certainly.’
‘And off he pops, nowhere to be seen,’ says Ron. ‘Then whaddaya know, his partner in crime gets killed the next day.’
‘But he was my son-in-law Paul’s best man, Ron,’ says Joyce. ‘I hardly think –’
