The Sister(103)

Chapter 87



Melissa put the phone down. She confirmed her arrangements with JFK. Moving her laptop in front of her, she signed in to Facebook to post the agreed message. 'I can’t wait for more birthday celebrations’. Almost over now, Mel.

She’d given up trying to figure out what it was he was up to after the second message. Not that she had time to worry much about it, she was raking in around two and a half, to three thousand in appearance fees and the one night a week with clients was bringing in another six or seven thousand.

If she carried on working extra hard, she'd recuperate most of what was stolen in twelve weeks or so, less her living expenses. If the caller stuck to his word, she’d have the money back a lot sooner. She prayed Lynch wouldn’t ask for it in the meantime.

Despite the break-in, she still put her earnings in the safe. Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place. After the break-in, she’d started a new dossier. For her, it was an irresistible urge. Keeping a diary had been a habit from when she was nine years old, when her mum bought her one for her birthday. It was only when she reached later life that she realised the true value of recording days and dates. She recorded every request, right from the caller’s first contact with her; she knew what men like him were like. He’d try to spin it out, squeeze another favour from her. If she did it this way, she could say, you’ve had your five things you asked for. I know because I wrote it down.

When the call came this time, a few minutes later, he introduced a new requirement.

She hesitated. It was a bizarre request. She tried to make sense of it. ‘I want to know the reason you want me to do that.’

‘Melissa, we are going to fall out if you keep asking me questions like that, eh?’ he said, in a smooth and persuasive voice. ‘Do this thing for me and I’ll come round with the money and your little black book. Five favours I asked for, and this will be the last. I promise you won’t be bothered again by me.’

The tone of his voice reassured her he was telling the truth. ‘Okay.’

‘Right, when is your next liaison?’

‘It’s tomorrow night at eight—’

‘No, that’s too early. Wait a minute.’ The caller didn’t speak for a moment. ‘Okay, we can work with that. At 8:30 p.m. tomorrow, your phone will ring. Do not answer it under any circumstances, is that clear?’

‘Yes.’ She felt subdued; she didn’t have a choice.

‘Good and don’t listen to the message afterwards. I’ll know if you have and if you have, you’ll have broken our bargain. You will not get your things back. Do you understand? Now, I want you to call Lynch, tell him you heard this from Kennedy.’

He told her what he wanted her to say. ‘Have you got that? Good. After he leaves, the minute he leaves, call this number.’ He read it out to her.

She scribbled it down on an old envelope.

‘And don’t forget my little package. Once I’ve heard from you, I’ll bring your things back as promised.’

He hung up.





Chapter 88



It was Thursday night and a mass of club goers were packed along the length of the building, between the rope barriers, waiting to get in to Lynch’s new nightclub. The queue moved slowly, but steadily, a conveyor belt of people would start and stop as the men at the door controlled who came in. Staff turned away only a few, young men mostly, or blatantly under-aged girls. High above the door, a huge array of coloured light bulbs depicted a face that was instantly recognisable, even without the sign that read Marilyn’s. The crowd below were bathed in the colour of its warm blush. A man emerged seemingly out of nowhere, into the pink hue, apparently intending to jump the queue, a couple of doormen moved to check his progress.

‘I’m here on business,’ he said, raising both hands above his shoulders, as if protesting innocence.

Neither of them seemed interested. They exchanged looks, respecting the strangers menacing size and appearance by skilfully blocking him and at the same time steering him away with gestures, careful not to touch him.

‘Hear me out, fellas.’ He stared straight at the head doorman, pitching his voice loud enough to attract his attention. ‘I’m hoping to stage a series of White Collar boxing events and I'd love to do them here.’

The head doorman came out and studied the stranger’s face. Old, but dangerous looking, he looked like he’d taken part in a few boxing events himself. The stranger caught the look.

‘I’m into promotions now.’

‘You need to see the boss and he ain’t here.’

‘Fair enough, anyone else I can see?’ he said, knowing Tony, Lynch’s right hand man, was in there. He’d seen him arrive five minutes earlier. He inched forward.

‘No sorry. Not without an appointment.’ The doorman raised his hands to keep him away. A trickle of adrenaline combined with rising apprehension had made him jittery. ‘Stand aside for me, will you, I’m trying to run a door here.’

The stranger, now flanked by three bigger men, didn’t appear at all concerned. ‘Look, I don’t want any trouble, but I’m here now – you know what I mean?’ His voice softened, ‘This’ll take about five minutes, that’s all, this place would be ideal, but I got another place to see where the staff might be...um, friendlier. I wouldn’t have thought your boss wants to be hearing how well the club down the road is doing, because you lost him a great business idea, would you?’