Philippe
The building he had been pointed out to was the address for Amelia Perez, the mystery woman Paddy had last been seen meeting up with at the gay bar named Ostriches in the Arctic.
He glanced around himself. No security cameras on the landings, of course.
It was a rundown building in a shabby part of the town. The smell of frying onions and urine had assailed his nostrils as he entered the building with his men, just a couple of them. He did not want to alarm the woman and then again, he did not know what had happened to Paddy. But Philippe and seen enough organised crime to suspect that all was not well.
The drumming sound of the rain had increased the isolating feeling he knew was palpable on the landing. He had yet to come face to face with any other inhabitant of the building. A distant sound of barking as one of the occupants on the floor below him, opened and shut the door, alerted him to the fact that there were people in the building with the mouldy walls and the leaking roof. Probably junkies and wh*res, he thought .
Approaching the cracked door, thrusting his large fists into his jacket pockets, he watched as his men pounded the door. Big-built Philippe wore his thick black hair combed back, and fastened in a little ponytail, and along with the earring in his earlobe, he looked mysterious and even sinister. The scar on his forehead made him look like a person most people would avoid. His men, Nitin Shah and Maksim stood, faces impassive, waiting for a sign from him to move forward .
There was a long pause and he was considering breaking open the door when he heard a scraping sound from the other side of the door. The men exchanged glances; that was no human; it sounded like an animal.
With an oath, Philippe pounded on the door one last time, shouting,
‘Open this door.’
When there was no response, he jerked his chin at his men and Maxsim stepped forward. A short, burly man in his thirties, Max was dedicated and loyal to Lucien Delano.
“Capo, let me …’ he said in his low voice and with one shove of his powerful shoulder, he broke open the door.
Immediately, the smell of rust hit them and Philippe scowled, eyes narrowing.
The smell of blood.
He looked down at the pathetic old dog that was standing at the door, its eyes grey with a film of cataract, its old coat matted with blood, shivering in fear, the tail hanging limply.
Phil wanted to go down on his haunches and comfort the old dog who was definitely terrified but he knew that checking the house was of paramount importance.
Nitin and Max had already entered, guns drawn. Philippe stepped across the dog and looked about the room.
It had been thoroughly trashed and that was an understatement. The small TV was smashed, the sad looking sofa had been ripped brutally with a knife and books torn, cabinets, the only two in the room, had been upturned. Someone had been frantically searching for something, he thought, heart sinking.
“Capo, come and look at this!,’ shouted Nitin hoarsely and he strode into the tiny bedroom adjoining the living room.
***
Proserpina
Schwartz was comforting me, his hand on my shoulder,
‘Hen, the boss is looking for Paddy. Stop worrying.’ I raised my eyes to his familiar face. James Schwartz had been with us for so long, a dear friend, who I knew I could turn to for any help, at any time of the day. Holding his coat lapels, I whispered,
‘I cannot help it, James.’
Just then the sound of a powerful car engine ripped through the air and we turned ass one, to look as the large black sedan with the tinted glasses, Lucien’s private vehicle, roared into the underground garage.
His men jumped out and held the door open as my husband emerged, his face drawn and ghastly in the overhead lights but his eyes were cold and harsh as he looked at me. With a start, I realized that I had been standing close to Schwartz, my hands on his coat while he held me, his hand lightly supporting my waist.
The flash of jealousy on my husband’s face was unmistakable and I sighed inwardly. Even after all these years, Lucien felt insecure when I was with Schwartz. We knew, all three of us, that Schwartz would remain a very dear friend. But that was all.
Now I moved towards my husband but he had stepped forward swiftly, jerking me into his arms I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he took me into his arms, bringing his lips down in a kiss that was more like stamping ownership.
His eyes glinted as he raised his head.
“Woman, the f*ck are you doing here?’ he growled. “Didn’t I tell you to rest?’
***
Maja
The rooms the old woman had taken them to were simply magnificent and Maddy threw herself down on the large beds with a cry of pure joy. Maja smiled tiredly. Compared to the narrow, lumpy mattress they had at home, this place was paradise!
Magnus had been allotted a smaller room across the corridor and when he entered carrying the bags, he looked pole-axed.
“Wow!’ he said, “Dad never had …’ he stopped and the familiar, shuttered expression appeared on his face.
Maja sighed.
Folding her arms across her bosom, she glared at her son.
‘Your father,’ she said flatly, ‘Was just a small-time crook. The mob hired him for jobs that any idiot could handle.’
Magnus’s nostrils flared. He liked to think of Tomasso as a great Don, and the man had led his children to believe all kinds of rubbish, with his swagger and his charm. Only she knew the truth, having been carried away herself, by his false stories all those years ago, she thought bitterly as she turned to look at Maddy. The little pup was whining as it could not clamber onto the high bed.
As Maddy bent to scoop the pup up, Beatrice said sharply.
“Nope. Dog stays on the floor. Till he’s house-trained and bigger.’ She swiped at the bed covers as she carried on in her nasal, commanding tone.
‘Boss’ s orders.’
Magnus, still smarting from his mother’s put down of his beloved father, retorted, with a sneer,
‘So the great Don has rules for the dogs in his house as well?’
Maja rounded on him, face flaming, preparing to give him a sharp rap on his knuckles for his rudeness. But the old woman slowly turned to look at him. Her small eyes, deep-set in the plump, weathered face, were cold and full of dislike.
“Looks like you ain’t never got a fist in your mouth, boy.’
And she stalked off, picking up the pup as she left, muttering something about badly brought up children.