The Sister(104)

The head doorman spoke to the men either side of the stranger. ‘What do you reckon?’

One shrugged. ‘I’ve heard about it, Reg. You know he could be right.’

Reg scratched his chin. ‘Okay, take him inside; see if Tony will see him. What’s your name?’

‘The name’s Dyson – as in the Hoover.’ His face was deadpan as he added, ‘as in clean up.’

‘Wait there a minute.’ The bouncer pointed him to a navy blue sofa, but he made no effort to sit. The music pounding on the other side of the blue pair of doors seemed to increase tenfold as the doorman opened them to go through.





Left unaccompanied; his attention wandered from the rich, red wallpapered alcove where he sat, to the reception and cloakroom area. The place had a steady stream of people coming in through the doors. He couldn’t resist doing the numbers.

You got a tidy little operation here, Lynch.

The doors opened, and Tony came out. He was chewing on gum as if he were in training for a gum chewing competition, the expression on his face fixed as if botoxed. His body jerked sporadically. Either he was suffering from Tourette’s, or he’d been mixing too much drink with cocaine. Dyson decided on the latter. Tony couldn’t concentrate on the man before him, his eyes continually flicking over at the women coming in.

‘Your name Dyson?’ He looked contemptuously at the man’s ill-fitting suit. ‘What we got in mind then, my staff tell me it’s to do with staging White Collar boxing nights here, is that right?’ Dyson spotted a tiny hint of white powder in Tony’s left nostril.

‘Tony, that’s right. You see there’s a market for all kinds of fighting right now, and you know this gives ordinary people a chance to settle their differences in the ring like men. The ring’s smaller than a pro ring—’

Tony cut him off short. ‘So what do I need you for? I can set this up for myself, and I gotta say to you mate...’ Looking at Dyson’s weathered and beaten face, he pointed at his spiky, straw-coloured goatee. ‘That’s the most f*cked up coloured beard I’ve ever seen. It doesn’t even look real!’

‘Tell you what, Sonny.’ Dyson’s demeanour changed, taking on an air of menace. ‘Give it a tug why don’t you, see if it comes off.’ His lips stretched back baring his teeth. ‘If it does, fair play to you, but if it doesn’t, I’ll smack you up. What do you say to that?’ He had his fist up by his jaw, rocking it slowly, his old Foreign Legion tattoo clearly visible left to right across the knuckles of his right hand, spelling out WRAT.

Tony looked at the tattoo – confused for a second, and then his eyes lowered an inch. Inked onto the knuckle of the cocked thumb below, the letter H completed the word for him: WRATH.

Tony suddenly felt the chill air of Dyson’s menace and as he stepped forward, he gambled the doormen would restrain him, that way not losing face. The bigger doorman planted himself between them; another two appeared out of nowhere.

They showed Dyson the door.

He didn’t care; he already had what he wanted.





Lynch answered his phone as he drew into the club car park.

‘Mel, you okay? I’ve just arrived at the club.’

She began hesitantly. ‘You know I never talk about Kennedy, 'cause I know you don’t like it.’ Lynch bunched his fists at the mention of the name. ‘But he said something about this operation he’s working on.’

‘What did he say?’

‘I just think you need to watch Tony, that’s all.’

‘I said, what did he say, not what you think. Come on, Mel; let’s have the rest of it – all of it. ‘

‘The police arrested Billy Wharton a little while back and he talked. Something about a shipment of arms and drugs. I don’t know, I couldn’t look like I was too interested. Apparently they think Tony is going to hijack the shipment and use the proceeds to start his own operation.’

‘Do they now?’ he said.

‘Danny, what will you do?’ After a long pause, she said, ‘I don’t like it when you go quiet like this, you’re not angry with me are you?’

‘No, not with you. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do; I’m going to give him enough rope. Then we’ll see him hang himself.’

Melissa refrained from any comment. She wanted to tell him she’d been instructed under duress to tell him those things, but she dared not. Suddenly, the apprehension she felt about the game she’d been drawn into, moved to a terrifying new level and the consequences scared her more than she’d thought possible.

Relieved she hadn’t told him all of it, she was supposed to have said Tony kept coming round to see her behind his back. She shivered at the thought of what he might do if she had told him that.





Lynch sat in the car for a few minutes after the call ended. Why would Kennedy tell her something like that? It had to be a scam to start trouble between him and Tony, but why? He always knew there would come a point in time when the DCI would try to use her against him. In truth, he’d considered using her to feed him with fake information, just to see if she would. At the beginning, apart from the sex, it was the only reason he kept with her, the possibility of using her like a Mata Hari type figure, but over time he’d grown fond of her. Lately, the possibility of making a respectable woman out of her had crossed his mind with a frequency that disturbed him. Now, he had to find out exactly where her true loyalties lay. Tonight, he was stuck entertaining VIPs from the criminal fraternity tonight. Tomorrow, he’d sort it out with her.