Page 77 of Licence To Howl
‘That wasn’t just for you although it helped that your fangy friend had drunk from me earlier. I was painting a picture for the world to see. Christopher already had everything in place and ready to go, you see. It didn’t matter if he was alive or dead. Everything was set up and the rest of our people in Rome, Berlin, Paris and London were ready to go. They wanted to be paid and they didn’t care who paid them.’
‘Solentino didn’t die easily.’
‘I wanted everyone to think he’d been forced to give up the information that I already knew.’
Devereau watched her. He knew that wasn’t the real reason Solentino had been tortured. It was only the excuse. Maybe part of the reason had been to pay him back for the way he’d treated her but Devereau suspected that mostly Alina had just enjoyed it. The cold light in her eyes suggested it.
‘You let Vissier go.’
‘Gee was weak. Plus, I knew what he knew. There was no doubt that sooner or later, he would be arrested and he would give up every detail of our plans. I wanted every government to know I was coming for them. It was perfect misdirection and the best way to get what I wanted. Gee Vissier was under my control at every moment.’ She shrugged casually. ‘And I had a bit of a soft spot for him. I didn’t need him to die.’
‘What about Stefan Avanopoulos?’
Alina actually giggled. ‘Oh, he was so very pliable. I knew Bartan wouldn’t accept me taking over if Solentino died so I persuaded Avanopoulos to get on board instead. He killed Bartan for me and then stepped up with barely a moment’s pause. Stefan wassovery helpful. And I needed someone to take the blame. I’d never get away with the money otherwise. It was really very easy to rig one more bomb up and get rid of Stefan and the others at the end.’
She really was very pleased with herself. ‘You planned for everything,’ Devereau said.
‘Everything apart from this.’ She gazed at him. ‘I’m supposed to be the only one left who knows the truth. But now there’s also you.’ She paused. ‘Do you have the Ring of All Seasons with you?’
‘Why do you want it now? You’ve achieved everything you wanted.’
‘I told you when we first met,’ she said almost dreamily, ‘that ring is power.’
Devereau raised his shoulders. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘here you go.’ He reached into his pocket and drew the ring out, placing it in the centre of the table between them.
Greed lit her face. ‘You’re a good man, Devereau Webb,’ Alina said. ‘And a very stupid one.’ Her hand dropped under the table, delving into the bag she’d left by her feet.
The air to Alina’s right shimmered. She barely had time to raise the gun to chest height when something smacked into her arm, forcing her to drop it.
‘That’s the second time I’ve been called stupid inside this pub,’ Devereau said, ‘and it’s not any more true on this occasion than it was last time.’
The air shimmered again, coalescing into the familiar shape of Tatton O’Brien. With near lightning speed, he bent down and scooped the gun up before backing away and inspecting it.
‘Fully loaded,’ he said. ‘With silver bullets. What was the plan, lovie? Put one of these babies in poor Devereau’s head, take out the barman and the old woman and run for the hills?’
Alina’s face twisted into a vicious snarl. Then she lunged towards the leprechaun, flipping the table and sending the Ring of All Seasons, Devereau’s barely touched pint and several sticky coasters flying in all directions. O’Brien laughed and danced out of her reach. Devereau spun and grabbed her by the shoulders, hauling her back. ‘Give it up, Alina. You’re done.’
‘Fuck you.’ She rammed her elbows into his midriff. Devereau gasped but didn’t let go. Then, however, she reached for her belt and, seemingly from nowhere, produced a knife she’d had concealed under her top. In one swift movement, she twisted the blade and arced it round, slicing deeply into Devereau’s forearm. His blood splattered across the sticky pub floor and he released her.
She twisted her head left then right, assessing the situation. ‘You bastard,’ she hissed. ‘Devereau fucking Webb. Who are you really?’
From the doorway at the back of the pub, the one which led down to the basement, a voice appeared. ‘That furry fucker’s one of us.’
They all turned. It was Ronnie Hitchens, holding a gun of his own. He was pointing it steadily towards Alina’s head.
She screamed in rage and ran at him. He loosed off a single shot. Alina screamed again as the bullet slammed into her upper arm, throwing her off balance. She wasn’t giving up yet, however. She staggered forward, still clutching the knife, and reached for the old woman to use her as a shield. ‘I’m walking out of here,’ she spat. ‘Lower your gun or this old biddy gets it.’ She wrapped her injured arm round the woman’s waist and pressed the blade against her throat.
Nobody moved. Alina glared at Ronnie and, with obvious reluctance, he lowered his gun. Then she swung her head towards O’Brien. He looked at Devereau.
‘Put it down,’ Devereau said quietly.
‘Yeah,’ Alina sniped. ‘Do what the wolf says.’
O’Brien’s eyes flashed but he too lowered the muzzle of the gun. Alina smiled nastily and began dragging the old woman to the door. The bartender twitched. Devereau shook his head at him.
‘Don’t,’ he said.
Alina smirked. Then, with the woman pressed tightly against her, she kicked the door open and disappeared.
