Christopher Brookmyre (49 page)

Ross swallowed a last mouthful of tea, bitter and a bit nasty from going cool. He hoped it provided adequate cover for his expression. His guilt and general anguish reined him in, but he was pissed off, figuring his dad was playing the situation more than a little, banking on not getting the usual both barrels in response. He'd never have dared come out with this kind of shite under normal circumstances, and broken fingers or no, he wasn't getting away with it.

'Maybe she doesn't fit in,' Ross suggested quietly.

'What do you mean? We've been married more than a quarter-century,' Dad responded, his vehemence proof that he knew
exactly
what Ross meant.

'I mean maybe you're not the same people you were more than a quartercentury ago. When I'm home I don't hear you talk much. In fact you seldom give the impression that you even like each other.'

'Ach, rubbish. It's not flowers and chocolates all the time, but what marriage is? Especially after all this time. But I love her, Ross, I always have.'

Ross bit his lip, though he knew he was going to say it anyway. He felt like a thousand kinds of shit already, so it wouldn't make much difference to heap on a little bit more. It might seem callous, but he'd been watching his dad build these delusions around himself his whole life, based on fallacies, undefined terms and unchallenged assertions. And now here he was, doing it again, using Ross's guilt to stave off the truth.

'Love is just something people say, Dad,' he stated regretfully. 'When to mean anything, it should be something people do. You and Mum have been drifting apart for years. It's nobody's fault, but please don't tell me you love each other. You hardly know each other.'

'I do love her,' Dad protested, and Ross could see tears in his eyes, making him feel that bit closer to a dysentery-bearing amoeba. He did love who she'd been, love his kids, love all that they'd come through, the family they were. Ross could see that. But neither Mum nor Dad had any time for the people each other were now. And through his dad's tears Ross could see he knew that too.

'If she'd come around,' he stumbled, shaking his head. 'I don't know, we don't have much in common any more apart from you and Michelle and the kids.'

'That's what I'm saying. If Mum's taking taxi jobs to stay out of the house half the night, then it doesn't sound like she enjoys being around there very much. And that would make me concerned she might not be around there much longer.'

Dad smiled sadly, with a faraway look. 'No, no. If I get out of this mess, we'll be together for life. Don't you worry.'

'Why, because Catholics don't get divorced? It takes two people to stay married, Dad.'

He shook his head.

'You don't understand. It's not about that. That would never even be an issue, believe me. She needs me, Ross. That's why we'll be together. As long as she needs me, I'll be there. And that's what's got me awake at night as much as your situation, to be honest. She's always had me to look out for her, and I really fear for how she'd get along if I wasn't there.'

Decent, normal, sensible girls

Lex glanced up from her monitors to have a look at the video feeds. Bett sat a few feet to her left, glued to the screens, toggling between cams in an unusually fidgety manner. His attention was focused mainly on two: the moving view from Jane's pendant and a fixed angle across a smoky bar where, now out of shot, Parrier had recently entered with another man, identified by Bett as Lucien Dirlos. They'd got a good look at him via the sucker-mounted cameras outside the OSE suite, where he had arrived a couple of hours back. Lex had been relieved not to recognise him, but her relief was tempered by the corollary knowledge that she still didn't know who her duplicitous contact was.

Jane and Nuno had been in a holding pattern, driving around the outskirts of town while they waited - and hoped - for Parrier to leave his suite. He and Dirlos had seemed frustratingly settled there, making calls and sending emails, but eventually Parrier announced his intention to go downstairs for a drink. Dirlos had mentioned jokingly that they had plenty of booze in the suite, but he clearly knew what Parrier meant, even before he pointed out that

'there's nothing to fuck in the suite apart from you'. The pendant view swept through the building towards the piano bar where the light-switch camera had spotted the OSE pair. Nuno was instructed by Jane to wait outside in the lobby, his presence not being conducive to intimacy, then she pressed on into the lions' den.

Lex watched Bett swallow, his eyes fixed upon the monitors. She'd never seen him so nervous; in fact, she wasn't sure she'd ever really seen him nervous at all. It was little wonder, however. They were sending in a barely trained operative with a fragile cover story that was not designed for longevity, but truth was they had no choice. Jane did have this connection with Parrier, everyone had seen it. There'd been an energy between them, even if only one side knew it was the crackling static of hatred.

'She's going to give me a heart attack before this is over,' Bett said, his finger muting the microphone so that Jane wouldn't hear. 'Whose idea was it to bring her into this?'

'That would be yours, sir,' Som informed him.

279

'Remind me to fire myself when we're finished.'

Jane had barely sat down at the bar before Parrier made his move, inviting her to his table where she was briefly introduced to his enforcer, Dirlos. Dirlos smiled politely as he shook her hand, but his eyes were cold, evaluative. She detected a twitch about his brow as he surveyed her, reminiscent of the moment when she had first presented her face to Parrier. However, they weren't given time to make any further impressions upon each other, as Dirlos understood the introduction to also contain his marching orders now that his boss had female company.

Parrier ordered them drinks and made small talk, idle flimflam about the exhibition, stuff both of them knew to be meaningless preamble. The chatter was stemmed by the arrival of their drinks, and did not resume. They each sipped, glancing across the table, sizing the other up like combatants. A knowing, flirtatious grin shaped Parrier's lips, heralding the start of the bout.

'Am I to take it that you are not so troubled by my reputation any more?' he asked. 'I mean, here you are, drinking with the roue, in full public view.'

'I believe I said rogue.'

'I have more than one bad reputation.'

'Perhaps I have decided I might learn from you, Monsieur Parrier.'

'Call me Pascal.'

'Pascal, then. I'm a rich woman. But if I had the nous to get away with half as much as you've done, I'd be a lot richer still.'

'What have I gotten away with?' he asked, feigning hurt but bursting with smug pride.

'Officially nothing. Barely a blemish on your copybook. That's what's most impressive.'

She played with an olive on her cocktail stick, letting him bask.

'Who are you?' he asked. 'Who do you work for?'

'I represent a collection of interests, whose identities it is
not
in their interests to disclose.'

'You
represent
?'

'A polite term. You could say I work in acquisitions, in as much as I get them what they want.'

'And what do they want here this week?'

Jane looked him in the eye and smiled.

'Nothing I've seen on the market floor.'

He mugged back, responding to the signal.

'And do you think I might be able to offer you anything of interest?'

'Possibly. Not merchandise. Underhand business skulduggery consultation services, perhaps.'

[?] [?] [?]

'He's loving it,' Rebekah commented. The sound feed from Jane's earrings was being routed through the speakers, nobody scanning any of the other channels. Tonight, this was the only show in town. 'She'll have him on a leash barking like a dog before she's through.'

'Never make assumptions about who's playing whom in this game,' Bett grumbled. 'Parrier's an experienced womaniser, and there's girls half his age in there, easily impressed by a Platinum Amex and the key to the penthouse. What's he really after?'

'Perhaps he's really after a woman who isn't half his age and isn't impressed by a Platinum Amex,' Rebekah countered.

Ouch, Lex thought, and the thunderous look on Bett's face confirmed the strike. Lucky for Reb he had other shit to worry about right then.

'So I'm wondering,' Parrier said. 'Is it only my business reputation you find yourself less troubled by?'

Jane said nothing, hitting him with a blank look that demanded elaboration on his part.

'I mean, would you make certain assumptions if I was to suggest we continue our conversation somewhere a little more private? Somewhere with a better view, perhaps.'

'I wouldn't make assumptions if you didn't,' she replied. Parrier grinned and reached for his drink.

Bett's voice immediately sounded in Jane's ears. '
Don't do this
,' he commanded flatly.

'I believe I would be a fool to make any assumptions of you, Miss Bell.'

'Then you may suggest a change of view.'

'
D'accord.
'

'
Do not do this
,' Bett repeated, as Jane downed the last of her G&T. '
We can't
control this environment. He's got a security guard outside his door up there, he's
got Dirlos prowling downstairs, God knows who else in tow. And he is making
every assumption you can think of.
'

She got to her feet and let him lead her out of the bar towards the lifts.

'
Jane
,' Bett appealed, voice low. It was the first time he'd called her anything other than Mrs Fleming. '
Nobody's asking you to do this.
'

Jane let out a laugh inside the elevator as she watched Parrier swipe his keycard to access the penthouse level.

'What's funny?' he asked as the lift lurched into movement.

'The people I work for. I was thinking they might not be best pleased if they knew I was heading to a penthouse suite with you. They can work themselves into such a tizz about some of the things I get up to.'

'I know what you mean,' Parrier replied, understandably assuming it was him she was talking to. 'But in my experience they're not so concerned once they see the bottom line.'

'Just salving their consciences, I think. None of us are under any illusions about the nature of the game. The reason they took me on is because I told them I'll do whatever it takes to get what I want.'

'And what do you want tonight?' Parrier asked.

She put a hand around his neck, pulled him closer and kissed him. The monitor displaying the pendant-camera feed went all but blank, showing only a blurred view of Parrier's jacket. There was a deadly silence around the room, other than the occasional amplified slap of mouth on mouth. Lex barely dared to breathe.

Bett looked frozen in time, unmoving, his finger muting the microphone lest the tiny speakers in Jane's ears give themselves away. The kiss broke off as a chime sounded to announce that the lift had reached the top floor. Parrier let Jane step out first, then gestured left along the corridor. Nuno's voice broke the silence, coming through the speakers.

'Sir, it's Dirlos. I tailed him when he left the bar. He had a drink in one of the lounges, but he did not look like he was about to undo his tie and start crooning. Very, very unrelaxed. Anyway, he made a call on his mobile and now he's hovering around the front desk like a kid needing to pee, keeps going up and bothering the receptionists. Gut feeling, sir: I don't like it.'

Bett didn't respond for a long couple of seconds. When he did, his voice was low and throaty, like he'd had to delve deep to find it.

'I don't either,' he said. 'Rebekah?'

'You got it.'

'Champagne?' Parrier asked.

'Why not,' Jane answered, staring out through the full-height, full-width windows that lined the suite on two sides. An L-shaped open area curled around the enclosed bedroom and bathroom in the centre. She stood close to the bureau, upon which sat two laptops, a sheaf of faxes and hard-copy emails fanned untidily between them next to a portable printer. The laptops were both blank and silent, impossible to know whether in sleep mode or fully closed down.

Parrier stood behind the breakfast bar of the kitchen area, having removed the wine from a quite unnecessarily large fridge, just one of many monuments to self-importance incorporated into the suite's extravagant design. There was even a singularly hideous piece of free-standing modern sculpture next to one wall, or so Jane thought until she spotted the letters OSE etched upon it at regular vertical intervals, at which point she belatedly realised it was actually a stack of heavily insulated black fibreglass cases.

Parrier poured two flutes of champagne and walked slowly across the floor to hand her one.

'
Salut
,' he said. They clinked their glasses. Jane had a tiny sip, Parrier a more lusty gulp. He put his flute down on the bureau and placed his hand on the stem of hers, running a finger along the glass, along the back of her palm and slowly up her arm.

'It has been said of me,' he said softly, looking at his hand as it made its progress along her sleeve, 'that I am an arrogant man. That I have a very high opinion of myself.' He looked into her eyes, his hand reaching her shoulder, the skin of his fingertips then brushing her neck. 'I
am
an arrogant man. And I do have a high opinion of myself. But not so high an opinion as to remain unsuspicious when what I want comes too easily.'

His hand spanned her throat, gripping but not quite squeezing.

'You see, it's been troubling me that I can't place you, and yet you know so much about me and my . . . reputation.'

Jane didn't react other than to look towards the door. Parrier noted it.

'He won't help you,' he told her. 'Denis is here to protect me, in whatever way I deem necessary. So maybe it's time for you to get something off your chest. Such as a wire.'

Jane's gaze never left his, nor had her hands moved to protect herself. Still staring into his eyes, she transferred the champagne to her left hand and with her right undid two buttons on her jacket.