García looked over at him. ‘Of course not. Online casinos operate on trust. If people suspected we were cheating, we’d lose our whole customer base.’
‘But Bazarov thinks you’re cheating?’
‘That’s what he says, yes.’
‘And because of that he had your head of security shot?’
García grimaced. ‘Not exactly. No.’
‘Carlos, you need to stop fucking around here. Your balls are on the table and I’m the guy holding the cleaver. You need to tell me what’s going on so I can get it sorted.’
‘Okay, okay,’ he said. ‘Stefan ran up a debt. My fault. He was a good customer, one of our best, so when he asked for credit I said yes. That was fine for a couple of months until his payments stopped going through. I mentioned it to Rosenfeld and he said he’d sort it out. I thought he meant he’d talk to Bazarov but he got some Serbs involved. They went to talk to the Russian and roughed him up. Nothing broken, just worked him over.’
‘You knew about this?’
‘Not before it happened. Not until Jake got shot. I went to see him in hospital and that’s when he told me.’
‘Who shot him? Who actually pulled the trigger?’
‘He doesn’t know. But he thinks they were Russian.’
‘And this Bazarov. Who is he?’
‘Just a client.’
‘A client who can get someone shot. Who is he, Carlos? Russian Mafia?’
‘Just a Russian client. That’s all I know. You think I’d pick a fight with the Russian Mafia?’
‘I don’t know what to think, Carlos. That’s why I’m talking to you and not giving you the kicking you so richly deserve. He lives in Marbella, the Russian?’
García nodded.
‘You’ve got an address for him?’
‘Sure.’
For several minutes García drove in silence. ‘How much trouble am I in, Terry?’ he asked eventually.
‘I’m not sure yet. Soon as I know, you’ll know.’
It took less than five minutes to drive from the airport to the tower block where the American lived, overlooking Gibraltar’s Ocean Village complex, with shops, restaurants and apartment blocks around a large marina. The largest vessel by far was a massive white cruise ship that had been converted into a hotel, dwarfing the yachts around it. García parked the sports car in the block’s car park and they walked up a flight of stairs to Reception. There was no doorman but a big man in a dark suit was sitting on a sofa reading a newspaper. He nodded at García, who nodded back.
‘He’s one of yours?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Jake wanted extra security,’ said García, as they walked towards the lift.
‘The head of security needs security,’ said Shepherd. ‘That sort of defeats the point, doesn’t it?’
‘As I said, Jake’s more about system security. This is a new situation for the two of us.’ They got into a lift and García pressed the button for the top floor. When the door opened, a second, slightly bigger, man in a slightly darker suit was on the landing. He nodded at García.
‘Who’s paying for the extra security?’ said Shepherd. ‘Because I’m pretty sure the O’Neills don’t know about it.’
‘Jake’s handling it.’ There seemed to be only two apartments on the top floor and García took Shepherd to the one on the right. He pressed the bell, and a few seconds later the door was opened by a guy in his thirties with a cast on his left leg. He was holding a steel crutch. He had blond hair tied back in a ponytail, there was a cut on his lip and his right eye was bruised. Despite his injuries he smiled and welcomed them.
‘This is Terry, the guy I told you about,’ said García.
‘Come in,’ said Rosenfeld. ‘The place is a bit of a mess. I’m not up to clearing up after myself at the moment.’ He gestured with his crutch for them to go inside.
The apartment was impressive with floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides and spectacular views over the marina, the sea beyond and across to Spain. There were long black leather sofas set around a glass table that was supported by two brass figures of naked kneeling women and on the wall by the door was a large oil painting of two naked women entwined around each other. The coffee table was littered with take-away containers and pizza boxes. Rosenfeld smiled apologetically. ‘I’m not much good in the kitchen either.’ He dropped down onto one of the sofas and waved his crutch at the other sofa. ‘Please, sit. Carlos, help yourself to a drink from the fridge. I’ll have a beer.’
García headed for the kitchen. ‘What do you want Terry?’ he asked.
‘I’m good,’ said Shepherd, sitting down. He looked over at the American. ‘So tell me what happened?’
Rosenfeld grinned. ‘It’s nothing. It looks worse than it is.’
‘I don’t care what it looks like, I want to hear what happened.’
‘You presumably know what happened. A client decided to welsh on a debt and when I tried to collect I got shot.’ He gestured at the cast. ‘It’s no big deal. I can still work, the cast is just there to protect the stitches. Like I said, it looks worse than it is.’
‘Jake, I couldn’t care less about the state of your fucking leg,’ said Shepherd.
García returned with two bottles of beer. He gave one to Rosenfeld. ‘It was a problem, but it’s over now,’ said García, sitting down next to Shepherd.
‘It’s over when I says it’s over,’ said Shepherd. ‘From where I’m sitting, it looks to me as if you’re in the middle of a gang war. And that’s not good for business.’
‘Who the hell are you, exactly?’ asked Rosenfeld.
‘I represent the owners.’
‘Yeah, well I work for Carlos.’
He looked over at García, clearly looking for support, but García turned away and sipped his beer.
‘And Carlos works for them. Listen, I’m on your side here. I want to find out what happened and make sure it doesn’t happen again. I’m guessing you don’t want another bullet in the leg.’
‘They won’t shoot me again,’ said Rosenfeld.
‘I wasn’t talking about the Russians,’ said Shepherd. ‘I mean that if you keep fucking me around like this I’ll put a bullet in your other leg myself.’
Rosenfeld looked surprised and glanced over at García. The Spaniard was studiously avoiding him.
‘So, what did you do to set them off?’
‘Look, I talked to him, told him that he had to pay. He refused. So I spoke to some people who collect debts.’
‘Serbs?’
‘Yeah. They’re based in Estepona, midway between here and Marbella. They collect debts for ten cents on the Euro. The guy I spoke to is called Goran Kolarac. He said he’d get our money back. Guaranteed it.’
‘So you were paying them what, twenty thousand Euros?’
‘That was the idea.’
Shepherd looked over at García. ‘You were happy at this?’
‘I didn’t know,’ said García.
‘You told me to do what was necessary, and that’s what I did,’ said Rosenfeld.
‘Those Serbs, you’ve used them before?’
Rosenfeld shook his head. ‘I was introduced to Kolarac through a friend of a friend. I thought it would help. Bazarov wasn’t going to pay. He said we could whistle for it.’
‘And the Serbs did what? Beat him up?’
‘Roughed him up a little, that’s all.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Jake, what did you think that would achieve?’
‘I thought if he knew we were serious, he’d pay back what he owes.’
Shepherd gestured at the man’s injured leg. ‘So much for your plan, hey?’
The American was clearly embarrassed.
‘So where are we with the Russian?’
‘In what way?’ asked García.
‘Is he done now? Or was he hoping for more than a bullet in the leg?’
‘You think he might hit us again?’ García looked nervous.
‘That’s what I’m asking you,’ said Shepherd. ‘And what about the Serbs? Are they now off the case?’
‘They’re in hospital,’ said Rosenfeld, quietly.
Shepherd squinted at him. ‘Run that by me again.’
‘They were shot. Three of them. The three that went around to see Bazarov. They got shot worse than I did.’
Shepherd stood up and paced over to the window. Navigation lights were twinkling on the boats in the harbour. Shepherd turned back to the room and glared at García. ‘So we’re in the middle of a gang war. Is that what you’re telling me?’
‘It’s over. It happened three days ago.’
‘Have you spoken to Bazarov since?’
García shook his head.
‘So how do you know it’s over? How do you know he’s not got a couple of guys sitting outside waiting to put a bullet in you? Or me? And what are we going to do about the money? The O’Neills want that money, Carlos. Do you understand me? They’re not going to take no for an answer.’
García and Rosenfeld looked at each other. ‘I don’t think he’s going to pay,’ said García, quietly.
‘Well, someone’s going to have to. How much do the brothers know about the technical side of what you’ve been doing?’
‘Not much,’ said García. ‘All they’re interested in is the bottom line. And we’ve been making money, hand over fist. If it hadn’t been for Jake getting shot … So what happens now?’
‘I’ll talk to the Serbs, make sure they don’t take it any further.’ He looked at Rosenfeld. ‘Have they been paid?’
‘They were going to keep their share when Bazarov paid them.’
‘Except Bazarov has no intention of paying. And if you ask him again, I’m guessing you’ll get more than a bullet in the leg.’ He turned back to the window and folded his arms. ‘The Serbs are going to need paying. That means you two are going to have to come up with the twenty thousand euros. You need to give me the cash, I’ll give it to them and, hopefully, they’ll see there’s no point in taking it any further.’
‘Twenty thousand?’ said García. ‘You expect me to hand over twenty thousand?’
‘They need paying, Carlos. And I’m not using my money. Plus, I’ll tell you now, if the Russian doesn’t come up with the two hundred grand, you’ll have to.’
‘You’re crazy!’ spat García.
‘It’s not crazy, it’s Plan A. The brothers will want their money so if the Russian doesn’t pay up you’ll have to. Plan B is that I put a bullet in your head and another in Jake’s. Because if the O’Neills find out what you’ve been doing they’re going to want you dead. It might be me they get to do it, it might be someone else, but as sure as I’m standing here, that is what’s going to happen if they don’t get their money.’
García wiped his face with a hand. He was sweating and there were damp patches on his shirt.
‘I want the twenty thousand now,’ said Shepherd. ‘I can give that to the Serbs. I’ll talk to the Russian and see how the land lies. Have you got the cash?’
The Spaniard nodded. ‘I can get it.’
‘I need it now.’
García looked at Rosenfeld. The American’s eyes widened. ‘Are you serious? You want my money?’
‘I don’t care who gives it to me but I’m not leaving here without the twenty grand.’
Rosenfeld glared at Shepherd, but then the fight went out of him and he sighed. ‘Fine,’ he said. He pushed himself up off the sofa and hobbled into the bedroom.
‘I’m sorry about this, Terry,’ said García.
‘You and me both,’ said Shepherd.
Rosenfeld returned with a bundle of notes, which he handed to Shepherd. ‘I’m not walking outside with that,’ said Shepherd. ‘Get me a bag or something.’
Rosenfeld limped back to the bedroom.
‘What do I do now?’ asked García.
‘Stay out of trouble and wait for me to call you,’ said Shepherd.
‘Thank you, Terry,’ said García. ‘I appreciate what you’re doing.’
‘Don’t thank me yet,’ said Shepherd. ‘This could still all turn to shit.’
Rosenfeld came back with a small washbag. ‘How about this?’ he asked.
‘It’ll do,’ said Shepherd.
Rosenfeld put the money into it, zipped it up and gave it to Shepherd. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said, bitterly.
Shepherd glared at him. ‘There’ll be time for please and thank-you when this is sorted,’ he said. ‘Until then your best course of action is to keep your mouth shut.’
The immigration officer who examined Mohammed al-Hussain’s passport was a Sikh, his head covered with a pale blue turban. Further along he saw a Chinese woman and beyond her a West Indian. The Sikh handed the passport back and motioned for al-Hussain to walk on. Al-Hussain smiled and moved away from the counter.
Sunny was at the next counter, saying something to the Chinese woman. He loved to talk. They had sat facing each other in business class and Sunny had talked incessantly for the first fifteen minutes. He had talked about sport, movies he had seen, girls he had been out with, food he had eaten. Al-Hussain had grunted occasionally but hadn’t replied. Nothing Sunny had said was dangerous. There had been no hint in his incessant rambling of who they were or why they were going to London, but al-Hussain had found it distracting and annoying.
They were served a meal and Sunny talked all the way through it, whether or not there was food in his mouth. Eventually, after their trays were taken away, al-Hussain was able to get some peace by pretending to sleep. They had walked together along the platform at St Pancras and Sunny had followed him to the immigration checkpoint. He clearly intended to stand behind him and al-Hussain had to tell him to join another queue. It wasn’t a good idea to go through Immigration together and Sunny should have known that.
Al-Hussain walked out into the station and looked around. There didn’t seem to be anyone waiting for him, which meant he had to stay with Sunny. He didn’t like the Brit and would have walked away there and then, but he didn’t know where he was supposed to go so he stood where he was and waited. ‘All right, bruv,’ said Sunny, coming up behind him.
‘What happens now?’ asked al-Hussain.
‘Our ride’s outside.’ Sunny headed towards the exit and al-Hussain kept pace with him. On the pavement, Sunny looked around and spotted a grey Vauxhall Astra. ‘That’s us.’ He waved at the driver and the car edged towards them.
Al-Hussain climbed into the back and put his bag on the seat, then slammed the door. Sunny got into the front and twisted around. ‘This is Ash,’ he said.
Ash flashed al-Hussain a thumbs-up. Sunny grinned. ‘It’s all right, bruv, he speaks good English.’
‘Yeah? Is that right?’ said Ash.
‘Where are we going?’ asked al-Hussain.
‘Sheffield,’ said Ash.
‘You heard of Sheffield, bruv?’ asked Sunny.