Twenty-three. Callie 5 page

Y-you have to live, you know that, don't you, Callie? I don't know what I'd do without you. I've . . . cared about you for so long, I don't know how to do anything else. I wouldn't tell this to anyone but you. Hell! I wouldn't even tell you if you were conscious enough to hear it and play it back to me.

But I do . . . care about you. Very much.

You force my heart to beat.

So don't ever scare me like that again.

When you got shot, it was as if . . . as if the bullet that got you had escaped your body to hit me right between the eyes. I survived, though, because you did. But when your heart stopped . . . When that happened, all hope inside me started to wind down like a broken toy. I guess everyone has their Achilles heel. Why should I be any different?

Hang in there, Callie. Remember, it's you and me against the world. I'll deal with McAuley, and when you wake up we'll go away together. Somewhere far away where Jude McGregor will never find us. You just sleep, Callie Rose. Sleep until it's all over. And don't fret about what happened to you. Trust me, Callie. I'm taking care of that. Whatever it takes.

And if it doesn't work, if I get jammed up, just know that it was worth it.

You were worth it.

Thirty-seven

Vanessa,

I'm sure the last thing either of us wants or needs is a resumption of hostilities. The last turf war between us created casualties on both sides. But I will take out you and yours if your family try to muscle in on my patch.You need to rein in your sons. Once I have ALL my territory back, your manager will, I'm sure, find his way home.

And not before.

M.

Thirty-eight

I arrived for my job at TFTM at least fifteen minutes too early, waiting for the opportune time to put my plan into action. Inside the restaurant, I saw a few very late-lunch diners with only a couple of staff visible through the tinted windows, but they were at the back of the restaurant and hadn't even noticed me – which was just the way I wanted it. I stood outside, glancing at my watch, tapping it periodically and holding it to my ear, strictly for the benefit of the person who was watching me. 'Cause I was now in no doubt that I was being followed. And I had a good idea who was acting as my shadow.

I looked up and down the street, waiting for the right moment. And I didn't have long to wait. A middle-aged Cross woman who reminded me a bit of Callie's aunt Minerva was walking towards me. The woman wore a dark-grey suit and a mustard-yellow blouse and she carried a laptop briefcase. Her braids were pulled back and styled elegantly on top of her head.

'Excuse me,' I asked, stepping in front of her.

'Yes,' asked the woman, slight suspicion in her voice. But at least she had stopped.

I took another small step towards her. 'I'm sorry, but my contact lenses are playing up,' I smiled. 'Could you tell me what address is on this letter please?'

With my back half towards the restaurant window, I pulled the envelope for Vanessa Dowd out of my inside jacket pocket and handed it to her. Sidestepping slowly, I watched as the woman looked down at the envelope. I had to make sure that she was seen with the letter first rather than me. She looked at the front of the envelope, then turned it over in her hand.

'There's no address on this letter.' The woman frowned.

'That explains why I can't read it then.' I grinned apologetically. 'I'm sorry to have troubled you.'

'That's OK.' She handed back the envelope, looking at me like my deck was short of more than a couple of playing cards.

'Thanks anyway,' I said.

The woman hurried on without another word. I looked down at the envelope and turned it over as the woman had done. Painting a frown on my face, I looked up, just as Michelle and Angelo arrived for work. The letter charade with the suited Cross woman had been for their benefit alone. I could only hope it'd worked.

'Oh, hi,' I said.

'You're early,' said Michelle.

'My watch is running fast.' I showed it to them so they could see for themselves, the letter still in my hand.

'Then for goodness' sake buy yourself a new watch,' Michelle snapped.

'What's that?' asked Angelo, nodding at the letter I was waving about.

'Oh, this. A woman just asked me to give it to Vanessa Dowd.' I pointed up the street in the direction of the woman who'd just left. 'I told her she doesn't work here, but she insisted that Mrs Dowd's son Gideon did. She wouldn't take no for an answer.'

'What is it?' asked Michelle.

I shrugged. 'Haven't a clue. Does Gideon Dowd work here then? Is there any way I can get this to Mr Dowd to give to his mum?'

Angelo held out his hand. I eagerly handed over the envelope. Fingerprints. I wanted the envelope to be covered in a whole database full of fingerprints. That way I could hide mine amongst many – just in case the Dowds had the means to check them out.

'I wonder what it is,' Angelo mused aloud before handing it back.

'So is Gideon Dowd coming here today?' I asked.

'As a matter of fact Gideon will be in later,' said Michelle cagily. 'He sometimes comes in to do business with Mr Thomas.'

'Oh, I see.'

'But how did that woman know?' Michelle looked worried.

I shrugged. 'Michelle, can I give this to you to pass on to Mr Dowd so he can give it to his mum?'

Michelle wasn't happy, but what could she say? She reluctantly took the letter from me. From what I'd heard, Gideon and Owen Dowd both kept small offices somewhere upstairs in the Club where I wasn't supposed to go without an explicit invitation or reason. I'd already seen Owen's office and I was in no hurry to see his brother's. Evidently Michelle wasn't happy about me delivering the letter to Gideon in person either. Rather her than me.

I left TFTM, shift over, in the early hours of Wednesday morning. At least, because it was a week day, the night buses were running so I could get fairly close to home. The bus would drop me about a fifteen-minute walk from my house, but that was better than having to walk the whole way. I was grateful for small mercies. The night was warm like a blanket around me. I looked up. The moon was a crescent and I could make out the odd star plus the lights of a plane flying high overhead. But there was too much city light pollution to see much more than that.

With a sigh, I started on my way. I'd taken five or six steps when I heard, 'Get your filthy blanker hands off me.'

I spun round. Charles, a barman who worked up in the Club, was the one doing the shouting. The object of his wrath was a middle-aged Nought guy who sat cross-legged on the ground, a cup in his hand to collect the spare change of passers-by. On a piece of card in front of him, were the words: HOMELESS AND HUNGRY. PLEASE HELP. The homeless guy obviously wasn't doing very well if he was still asking for change at this time of night. But catching late-night revellers and staff heading for home must've seemed like a good ploy. The seated guy wore a woolly hat, despite the warm weather, with a plaid shirt and jeans, all assorted shades of grubby and dark.

'Sorry. I'm sorry.' The guy with the cup raised a placating hand.

What was he apologizing for? What had he done?

'Don't ever touch me again.' Charles carried on mouthing off, whilst brushing down the lower leg of his trousers. I couldn't see anything on them. Maybe he was trying to wipe off fingerprints. A number of TFTM employees had gathered around by now, wondering what all the commotion was about.

'Look at you,' Charles said scathingly. 'You're an embarrassment. Get off your arse and get a job, you worthless blanker.'

There were some gasps, but no one spoke.

'And what are you?' asked the homeless man, his gaze never leaving Charles.

I'd been wondering the same thing myself. Charles was as white as the homeless guy. As white as me.

'I'm not a blanker, I'm a Nought,' Charles announced.

Behind him, some of Charles's Cross colleagues started to snigger, a couple of them pressing their lips together real tight to stop themselves from laughing out loud. The seated guy stood up slowly, his cup still in his hand. He and Charles never took their eyes off each other. The homeless man slowly shook his head. Charles's eyes narrowed. He stepped forward. So did I.

'Here you are,' I said, handing the homeless guy a couple of notes from my trouser pocket. 'Go and get yourself a warm meal.'

The man took my money without a smile. I didn't expect anything else. Charles couldn't get to him without shoving me out of the way first, which he was probably prepared to do. And he had ten years and quite a number of kilos on me, but I wasn't going to budge – well, not without him body-charging me first. The homeless man ambled off like nothing was bothering him, which it most likely wasn't. I went to follow in his direction, but Charles grabbed my arm and spun me round to face him. He glared at me. I said nothing.

'Takes a blanker to know a blanker,' he said softly.

He let go of my arm and marched off. All the TFTM people who'd been watching the show faded away like a sigh. In mere moments, I was alone.

Noughts and daggers. Crosses and blankers. Noughts and blankers. Crosses and daggers. Circles within circles. Divisions and yet more divisions. No black. No white. Just myriad shades of grey, one shade for every person on the planet. I didn't like where my thoughts were leading me, but my mind was full of sharp things. Sharp words like blanker, sharp sounds like the Crosses laughing at Charles, sharp sights of Charles and the homeless guy regarding each other, and homeless smells and textures like needle points. Only with Callie could I be comfortable. I shook my head. Something about the encounter between Charles and the homeless guy had left me feeling . . . hollow. I needed Callie to fill all the empty spaces inside of me. But she wasn't here. At that moment, I felt incredibly lonely. I hadn't realized until this moment how loneliness could eat away at you so much that it actually hurt. I needed to get home. I'd barely taken ten steps away from the place when an unfamiliar silver sports car pulled up beside me.

'Fancy a lift?' Rebecca's voice reached me before the passenger window was even halfway down.

Poking my head through the open window, I grinned at her. 'Love one. Whose car is this?'

'Mine.' Rebecca smiled. 'An eighteenth birthday present. Check out the licence plate.'

I took a couple of steps back to do just that. The registration read BECKS 1.

'Very nice,' I said, wryly wondering what Mum would get me for my eighteenth birthday in a couple of weeks' time.

'Hop in then,' said Rebecca.

I did just that, grateful for the car and the company.

Once we were on our way, I asked, 'Not that I'm not grateful, but how come you're driving when you've only just had your eighteenth birthday?'

The government had recently changed the law so that you couldn't even take driving lessons until you were eighteen minimum. Yet Rebecca had been given a car for her eighteenth birthday and was happily driving around.

'Private lessons on private roads for the last year,' she said. 'I took my test on my birthday and passed. Mum said if I passed first time I could have a car, I just didn't expect to get one quite so quickly.'

Oh, the joys of having money. All together now. Everybody sing!

'So were you at the Club again tonight?' I wondered.

'Nope. I just happened to be driving past . . . Well, actually, that's a lie. I was waiting for you.'

I stared, stunned. 'Why?'

'I wanted to give you a lift home.'

'Are you thinking of starting up your own taxi service?'

Rebecca laughed. 'Not as such.'

'Why did you want to give me a lift then?'

'I wanted to talk to you again,' said Rebecca, looking straight ahead.

'About what?'

She shrugged. 'Whatever you like. I don't mind.'

Huh?

'Oh. I see,' I said embarrassed. Slow or what?

We exchanged a brief smile before Rebecca turned her attention back to the road. I sat back into my seat and relaxed. Wow! She really did like me.

'It's a shame you didn't come into the restaurant this evening,' I began. 'It must be International Have-A-Moan day 'cause we had them all in tonight. We had one guy who chose the woodland fruit strudel for dessert, then complained it was too dry. It came with a jug of apple and cognac custard and I came that close to pointing out that if he bothered to pour the custard on his strudel, it would be wet, so what was his problem?'

'I can imagine how that would've gone down,' said Rebecca wryly.

'Yeah, like a lead balloon,' I agreed. 'But it was so tempting!'

I spent the next thirty minutes telling her about some of the other restaurant customers I'd come across so far. It was very indiscreet, but what the hell. I was very good at impersonations and voices, and let's face it, TFTM provided some great material. At one point Rebecca was laughing so hard, we started to drift across the road. An angry beep from an oncoming car persuaded me to tone it down a bit. Finally we pulled up outside my house.

'Thanks for the lift, Rebecca. And the company. I appreciate it.'

'You're welcome.' She smiled.

I got out and headed for my front door. Giving her a wave, I went inside.

The next night, Rebecca was once again waiting for me outside TFTM. This time I held her hand as a thank you before I got out the car. When she dropped me home the night after that, I thanked her by kissing her cheek. The night after that she turned her head so that I ended up kissing her lips. It was brief, mainly because she surprised the hell out of me.

'What was that about?' I couldn't help asking.

'Tobey, for a bright guy you're surprisingly slow about some things,' Rebecca said, exasperated.

'OK, what am I missing?' I frowned.

She took a deep breath. 'Are you going to ask me out or not?'

I stared at her. 'D'you want me to?'

'Why don't you ask me and see?' Rebecca said patiently.

'Becks, I don't suppose you'd like to see a film or something with me some time?' I asked doubtfully.

'God! I thought you'd never ask.' She laughed. 'If the kiss hadn't worked, I was contemplating dancing naked on your doorstep tomorrow.'

'Damn! Now she tells me.' I grinned – then my smile faded. 'What about your brothers?'

'What about them? They're not invited,' Rebecca replied.

'What're they going to say about the two of us going out together?'

We both knew what I was asking.

'It doesn't matter what my brothers think, because it's my life and I'm the one going out with you, not them,' Rebecca said.

Question answered, but I decided to keep pushing.

'What would your brothers say if they could see us now?' I asked.

Rebecca took a deep breath. 'Quite frankly, it's none of Gideon's business and Owen couldn't care less if I dated the head of the Liberation Militia.'

'I'm sure Owen does care about you, in his own way.' Even I winced at that platitude.

Rebecca's brown eyes twinkled, though she did her best to hide the smile on her lips.

'OK, work with me here. I wasn't sure what else to say,' I said dryly.

Rebecca smiled. 'I appreciate the gesture. But Owen cares about Owen, no one else. He does love me and I love him; it's just that we don't like each other very much. Or at all. And as for Gideon, he's like Mum. He likes to run things, including my life.'

I nodded, without saying anything else.

'Tobey, you don't strike me as the kind of person who'd let anyone stop you from getting or doing what you really want. But if being with me is going to make you uncomfortable, just say and we'll forget all about it.'

'No, it's not that,' I rushed to reassure her. 'I'd like to go out with you. In fact, I'm glad I had the idea.'

Rebecca laughed and this time I joined in.

'So what would you like to see?' I said.

'Tell you what. Why don't we go to one of those multiplexes where they're showing lots of films and then we can decide.'

'OK. Sunday or Monday?' I asked.

'How about both?' Rebecca winked at me.

'Both it is,' I agreed with a grin.

I asked for her mobile number and she gave it to me without hesitation. I actually had Rebecca Dowd's digits! After one final kiss which lasted a bit longer this time, I got out of the car. I waved at her as she drove off, but the moment I turned to my front door, my smile vanished.

Thirty-nine

Hi, Callie.

I bought these for you. Sorry they're a bit squashed and some of the petals have fallen off . . . well, a lot of the petals have fallen off, but I had them under my jacket. It's not that I'm ashamed of bringing you flowers or anything. It's just . . . I was keeping them safe inside my jacket in case the wind caught them before I could get to the hospital. Anyway, enough of the flowers. I'll leave them at your bedside and I'll ask one of the nurses to put them in a vase just before I leave. I know how much you like flowers.

So how are you today?

You're looking better. I know I always say that, but you really are. Was that a flicker of a smile I saw just then? Callie, I must admit, I sort of envy you. Nothing that's happening in the outside world can touch you now. You're above and beyond all that. I know when you wake up, it'll all be here waiting for you, but at least for now you don't have to worry about the world and everything going on in it.

Sometimes I look around and I wonder, 'Is this it? Is this all there is?'

But then I think of you. I remember the way you smile at me.

And my question is answered.

Forty

'Rebecca, why don't you just come out and tell your mum that you want to be a teacher?'

'Because it wouldn't do any good,' Rebecca sighed.

She took a sip of her fizzy mineral water and looked around the Mexican restaurant. It was a bit on the loud side and probably not as upmarket as she was used to, but if I was paying half the bill for our meal – which I'd insisted on – then it'd have to do. We'd decided to dine today and go to the cinema the following day instead. And in all fairness, Rebecca had been enthusiastic about eating at Los Amigos. I was the one with doubts, which had proved to be unfounded. The restaurant was about onethird full. Not bad for a Sunday night.

'If you did go to university, what would you study?' I asked.

'History. Or maybe History and Politics. But what's the point of talking about it? It's never going to happen.'

'Why not?'

'Mum won't hear of it. As far as she's concerned, she and my brothers are working hard so that I'll never have to. She reckons I should – quote – find a good man, get married, produce grandchildren and enjoy myself – unquote. What d'you think of that?'

'Sounds like hell!' I replied truthfully.

Rebecca laughed. 'My sentiments exactly. Mum thinks that having money and having ambition are somehow mutually exclusive.'

'Have you tried to tell her otherwise?'

'Until I'm blue in the face,' she said. She took another sip of her mineral water, then sighed. 'I would've made a good teacher.'

'So you're going to give up? Just like that?'

'You don't know my mum.'

Was she kidding? Vanessa Dowd was a formidable woman and an implacable enemy. Everyone knew that. And her sons Gideon and especially Owen were cut from the same cloth. If you got in their way, they'd run you over and never spare you a first thought, never mind a second one.

'My mum always says that this life isn't a dress rehearsal,' I began carefully. 'Mum says that regret is an underestimated emotion that can eat away at you just as much as jealousy or anger.'

'Your mum says a lot,' Rebecca said ruefully.

'Ain't that the truth!'

'You want something so you just . . .' She made a gesture with her hand like a rocket zooming upwards. 'You just go for it. It's that simple?'

'Yes, it is – if you want it to be,' I replied. 'I mean, look at you and me. To some people this is complicated. But not to me. What could be more simple than the two of us sitting here, enjoying a meal together? Mind you . . . Never mind.'

'Go on,' Rebecca prompted.

'I can't help wondering why you agreed to have dinner,' I admitted. 'After all, I am younger than you. Isn't that the kiss of death?'

'You're only younger by a few weeks. That's not much,' said Rebecca. 'Besides, you look much older than me.'

'Thanks,' I said dryly.

'No, I meant that as a compliment,' she rushed to explain. 'Some guys look younger than their age or they act all juvenile and silly, but you're much more mature. And I look younger than I really am, so you looking so much older than me works, don't you think?'

'Thanks. I think.'

'Oh hell, that didn't come out the way I wanted at all. What I mean is—'

'Tell you what,' I broke in. 'How about we change the subject?'

'I'd like that,' Rebecca agreed gratefully.

We grinned at each other. My smile faded first.

'Tobey, tell me more about your friends at—'

But she was interrupted by our first course arriving – a large bowl of guacamole sitting on a plate surrounded by mountains of nachos which we'd decided to share. I was so busy concentrating on the food being carefully placed between us that I almost missed Rebecca's gasp. I looked up immediately. She looked down, but not before I caught the expression on her face.

'What's wrong?' I frowned.

'Nothing.' The reply was terse, verging on a snap.

I looked around. There were people at the bar, Noughts and Crosses, mostly couples or small groups, but one or two people were drinking alone. More people were sitting down at tables, eating. No one was even looking at us. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I turned back to Rebecca. Something was still troubling her.

'Becks, I'm not a complete idiot, only half of one! So what's going on?'

'I'm so sorry, Tobey. This wasn't my idea, I promise you.'

'What?'

'We're being watched,' Rebecca admitted.

I only just managed to stop myself from spinning round. I took a deep breath, then another.

'Who's watching us?' I asked when I trusted myself to sound relatively calm.

'It doesn't matter,' she said, her head bowed.

'It does to me.'

'The man at the bar, the one wearing glasses. He works for my brother.'

'Which one?' I said sharply.

'I told you, the man wearing glasses . . .' Rebecca frowned.

'No, which brother does he work for?'

'Gideon. But what difference does it make?'

All the difference in the world.

'Why is your brother having us followed?'

'I don't know. I . . . I may have mentioned you, once or twice.' Rebecca was staring at her nachos like they were sprouting wings. 'Maybe more than twice. But I never thought he'd stoop so low as to have us followed.'

'What does he think I'm going to do to you? Kidnap you?'

'Look, I'm really sorry.' Rebecca still couldn't look me in the eye. 'If you want to bail on me, I'll understand. I would, in your shoes.'

Her expression was a cocktail of various emotions. Her lips kept twisting in a parody of a smile and she was blinking an awful lot. I realized with a start that she was on the verge of tears.

I forced a smile. 'I'm not going to bail, Rebecca. I like you. But this has to be the most original date I've ever been on.'

Rebecca's smile was more genuine than my own. 'Wait here. I'll be right back.'

She practically bounded from her chair and marched across to the bar. I swivelled in my chair and watched as she tapped the Cross guy wearing glasses on the shoulder. He turned, polite query on his face. Nice try! Rebecca's voice was too low for me to make out what she was saying, but her expressive face conveyed the conversation just as well as any words. Her words were flowing thick and fast, her expression thunderous. The guy tried to act innocent, but soon gave up on that when it became clear that Rebecca wasn't buying it. They had a heated discussion for a couple of minutes. Had this guy been following me when I met Byron? If it was him, then what had he seen? I'd lost him before reaching Adam Eisner's house, I was sure of it. And he couldn't've seen much through Byron's tinted car windows, but even so.

I stood up, wondering if I should join them. I dithered about for a few moments before making up my mind, but the moment I set foot in their direction, the guy headed for the exit. Rebecca walked back to me, her lips pursed together.

'Everything OK?' I asked as we both sat down again.

'It is now,' she replied.

'Does your brother do this every time you're on a date?' I asked.

'Not after today he won't. I'll make certain of that.'

'Can I ask you a question about your family?' I began tentatively.

'Go on then.'

'Now that your family are . . . successful, wouldn't it make more sense for them to give up all the . . . less legal stuff and go legit?'

'I regularly ask Mum that same question,' sighed Rebecca.

'And what does she say?'

'There's no guarantee that a legitimate business will succeed – too many external, uncontrollable variables. But there will always be a market for the illegal. That's as predictable as the sun rising each morning, plus it's a faster way to make money.'

'Is that you or your mum talking?' I frowned.

'My mum, of course,' said Rebecca sharply. 'With a bit of Gideon thrown in.'

A faster way to make money? For the likes of the Dowds and McAuley maybe. For the ones who worked for them, it was a faster way to end up rotting in prison – or rotting in a cemetery, more like.

'Besides, Mum's got some high-up Meadowview cop in her pocket, so we don't get troubled too much,' Rebecca added.

'You do stay away from that world, though, don't you?' I asked, anxiously.

'Of course. Nothing to do with me,' Rebecca said, suddenly looking concerned as though she realized she was saying too much. 'Besides, Mum wouldn't let me get involved, even if I wanted to.'

I could only admire the way Rebecca brushed off her family's business. Nothing to do with her – except that she dressed in it and drove it and ate it and slept on it and under it and every jewel she wore was paid for by it. I had to find out a few things before this went any further.

'How is Gideon going to react to you going out with one of his employees?' I asked, deliberately changing the subject.

'If it doesn't interfere with your work at TFTM, what difference does it make?' Rebecca frowned.

'The quality of my work will be irrelevant,' I pointed out. 'Your brother isn't going to like this.'

'Does that bother you?' Rebecca asked.

I shook my head. 'Not if it doesn't bother you.'

'It doesn't. I really like you, Tobey – in case you hadn't already noticed. And you're the first guy to treat me like Rebecca instead of Rebecca Dowd.'

'That means a lot to you, doesn't it?'

Rebecca nodded. 'Yes, it does.'

I lowered my gaze and bit into another nacho. She was with me because she thought her surname didn't matter to me. I was beginning to realize just how lonely Rebecca truly was.

'We should make this a regular thing,' I ventured. 'Our Sunday night dinner together.'

'I'd like that.' Rebecca grinned.

I grinned back. 'D'you wanna swap email and IM addresses?'

'Fine with me,' she said. 'If you give me your phone, I'll key in all my details.'

Once we'd swapped info, I checked my phone to make sure that all the information was saved. Rebecca had given me all her details, including her home address. I put my phone back in my inside jacket pocket.

I dipped a nacho into the guacamole and held it out to Rebecca. She grinned at me before opening her mouth. We fed each other until the guacamole bowl was empty. This dinner date had been more successful than I could've dared to imagine. The Dowds owned a copper – and not just a constable or a sergeant by the sound of it. I'd rapidly changed the subject when Rebecca mentioned it, especially as she looked so worried about what she'd revealed. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I'd latched onto what she'd said. But I'd taken it in and filed it away. My inner euphoria was fading somewhat, though. OK, so I knew at least one Meadowview copper was corrupt. One slight problem: I didn't know who. And until I did, I couldn't use the information to my advantage. And I sure as hell couldn't trust any of them. Should I risk trying to get a bit more information from Rebecca? Then I realized what I was contemplating and the direction of my thoughts startled me.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 637