Hit Me (The Bailey Boys #2) (9 page)

Authors: P.J. Adams

But if there’s one thing I did understand, it was that you had to meet like with like. That if things were so cranked up then any response would have to match.

The Russian stared at me, still smirking.

He must know I was unarmed. That I must be shitting myself right then, standing there with only a metal tray for protection.

And the last thing he must have expected at that moment was for me to take a big step forward and swing.

I’m a fighter. I could have been a mixed martial arts champion if I’d stuck at it and not got sidetracked by the drugs and glamour.

In MMA, though, you’re not usually up against someone with a gun.

And you’re not usually carrying a metal tray.

I took that big step, I swung, and the tray sliced through the air, held horizontally in my tight grip.

It cracked against the bridge of the Russian’s nose with a sound that was a small part metal as the tray flexed on impact and a large part meaty thud and dull crack of bone. The guy’s nose caved in, blood fountained, and the tray lodged against his eye sockets on both sides before I tugged it back and swung again – this time up and sharply down.

The second impact was with his wrist. Bones cracked, and the gun flew away to land harmlessly under one of the vacated tables nearby.

It was over in a second or two.

The Russian squealed like a spiked pig, as he clutched at his limp gun hand and blood from shattered nose and split eye sockets turned his face and jacket crimson.

When I glanced at his two sidekicks I saw they had their own guns drawn, trained on me.

But they had already hesitated too long and I knew I’d won this time.

If they had been going to follow through I’d be dead by now. They were clearly under instructions to intimidate and cause damage, but not to take things any further.

The boss guy was hissing instructions in a language I didn’t know.

“I think it’s time you left,” I said.

They did so, slowly, as movement seemed to make things worse for their injured leader.

I turned to Dean then, and said, “I think you might need to get some security on the door.” I swung a foot under a table and slid the Russian’s dropped handgun out into the open, and added, “And you might find this useful, too.”

I went to the door to make sure they’d gone.

The three of them were crossing the street, watched by a few onlookers from some distance away – maybe refugees from the New Duchess.

A car waited there, engine running.

For a moment I didn’t think anything of it but then I looked more closely at the driver.

Cropped blond hair, sharp cheekbones in a face that was otherwise rounded – I remembered the physique of a bodybuilder who couldn’t resist a few indulgences.

It was Georgi. The guy I’d stood door with at Hristo’s club that night, the one who was clearly more than a doorman and had been assigned to check me out.

Hristo Markov’s sidekick.

Not Russians then, but Bulgarians.

So how much of this coastline did Markov’s crew control? I’d known he was a big operator, but not this big.

Or maybe this was targeted. Maybe the reputation of the Bailey Boys
did
mean something out here and Markov had made this move to try to slap Dean down before he started getting big ideas.

I couldn’t work out whether I was being paranoid with my conspiracy theories or practical.

But what I did know was that I had an open door with Hristo Markov. I’d worked for him one night, and that had been set up by Fearless. Our old family friend must have some kind of influence there if he’d been able to set me up for a bit of work with the Bulgarian’s gang. Maybe I could use that.

When the Bulgarians had gone I went out into the night, and passed round the building until I was on the terrace overlooking the bay. Took my cellphone out and called my father’s old friend.

The call rang through to voicemail.

“Fearless? It’s me, Lee Bailey. Listen, I need to talk. Give me a call, yeah?”

I pocketed my phone. Leaned on the metal railings and breathed deep.

This place. So damned quiet!

The ruck in the New Duchess seemed very distant all of a sudden. I couldn’t believe the air wasn’t full of police sirens.

Gangsters shooting off their guns in a crowded bar in the busiest part of town. People fleeing for their lives.

What was it that made the cops decide to stay away?

Was it that it was a British bar, run by someone with form? Fearless had said the police didn’t really care about fights between the gangs. That they even welcomed it as a cost-effective way of keeping the numbers down. Maybe they saw Dean as a problem to be solved.

Or was it that Markov had lined a few pockets to encourage a blind eye and a deaf ear?

I didn’t know, but I was going to find out.

Because I knew one thing for sure: if there was a fight, then I was up for it.

I stood there with my heart pounding, my veins pumped, the adrenaline flowing. Alert to everything, poised for action.

I’d got a taste for the life again.

That moment when the bullets were flying and I saw everything with absolute clarity. When all the factors lined up in my perception and I made the critical snap judgment to counter-attack – the positioning of my antagonists, the look in the top Bulgarian’s eyes, the fact that he was shooting for damage and drama rather than deadly effect... the knowledge that while they were clearly under instructions to hold back I was bound by no such compunction and I could take the bastard out with two simple moves...

All that in an instant. Not reflex or spontaneity, but instant assessment and calculated response. A professional response.

I was in control. In charge.

And somehow I doubted it was the last time I’d come up against Hristo Markov’s crew.

“Lee, boy. How’s it going? How’s your old man?”

“Hey, Fearless. Thanks for calling back. The old man’s fine. Listen, we’ve got a bit of a situation here. Thought you might be able to help.”

“Well that much was bleedin’ obvious already now, wasn’t it? It’s not like you ever call to pass the time of day, now, is it?”

He was joking, winding me up about how much I relied on him, but I knew he loved it, really: being The Man. The one with connections. The one with solutions. One of the longest-established faces on the Costa del Crime.

“I’m down the coast at Dean’s place. They’ve been having a spot of bother. A protection racket leaning on them, trying to take a stake in the New Duchess.”

“Yeah? Was always going to happen, wasn’t it? He must have known that.”

“Sure. Sure. We dealt with it this time. But I don’t think that’s going to be the end of it. They came in with guns tonight, Fearless. Made a bit of a mess of the place before I helped them on their way, if you know what I mean?”

“So why’re you calling me?”

“It was the Bulgarians – Hristo Markov’s crew. You set me up with those guys, Fearless. Even though I said I didn’t want to hook up with a gang you set me up with a trial at one of Markov’s clubs. You clearly have influence. I thought maybe if you knew what was happening you could have a word. Gently inform the guy that he doesn’t want to be messing with the Bailey Boys – there are far easier targets, know what I mean?”

There was a silence, and in that pause I knew Fearless was preparing to duck and dive.

“You think I’ve got influence?” he said finally. “Nah, you got that wrong, kid. No one has influence over Hristo, except maybe Imelda Sanchez way back when she actually gave a shit about him. Nah, Hristo’s not a man who’s open to influence, Lee. Especially not from me.”

“So why did you point me in his direction?”

“He’s a smart man, Lee. I might not have any influence over him but he knows I can sometimes put interesting propositions his way. Propositions like Lee Bailey, fresh from the streets of London and looking for some action.”

“So put the Lee Bailey proposition to him again, then. Tell him I’m available if he’ll just back off Dean.” For someone who doesn’t do spontaneous, it was something I was doing more and more these days.

Another pause, then: “You sure?”

For all that Fearless insisted the rules here were different, the basics were the same everywhere. The Bulgarians had made their move and been knocked back. They’d lost face, and this game was all about reputation.

They would be back. The only way I could see to stop that, short of all-out war, was if I somehow got a bit closer to them.

I didn’t like it. But what else could I do? Dean and Jess had such a great thing going here. I’d give anything to protect that.

“Yeah,” I finally said. “I’m sure.”

Fearless’s mention of Imelda had set a few alarm bells going.

She’d been down here last night and this morning.

What if Georgi or one of his buddies had been staking the New Duchess out? What if they’d seen her? Or what if she was back in San Pedro tonight, and they caught sight of her now?

I had her number now, so when I’d finished the call with Fearless I called her.

And that was when things got interesting.

Because while I’d talked with Fearless about propositions – ‘a proposition like Lee Bailey’, he’d called it – that was nothing compared to the proposition Imelda put to me later.

Imelda hadn’t left San Pedro.

This morning she’d woken, limbs tangled with his, a sheet barely covering the two of them. They’d made love again, a deliciously lazy thing, savoring every move, every sensation. Reliving again the things they had done through the night. Enjoying again that sense of giving herself to a man so strong, so powerful. Being
had
. Being possessed.

Enjoying the aches in her body later whenever she moved. Aches in muscles that had not been used in a long time.

Finally, he stood and she turned to him. Sitting on the edge of the bed her face was level with his groin. His manhood hung down, soft and heavy. The muscles of his abdomen were sharply defined.

She pressed her face against him. Feeling him against her cheek. Feeling the slightest twitch of a response.

She almost took that as a challenge – try to get one more rise out of him – but instead she kissed the mat of hair at his groin, drew herself away and looked up at him. Said, “Hey. You’re going to call me, yes?”

She’d extracted herself from the bar without too many awkward moments with the brother or his girl. Found herself out on one of the narrow streets that ran a block back from the seafront.

Most of the settlements along this coast had merged over the years but this little town had retained some of its character at least. A fishing village at one time, many of the buildings were still original, crammed together around narrow streets and alleys on hills that tumbled down to the old harbor.

The atmosphere was different here. Still brash and touristy, yes, but the town had a different feel – it was as if the place itself breathed at a different rate.

It felt a million kilometers away from Puerto Libre.

And that was why she remained.

It was a space in which she could dream that things were different. A place where she might even believe that was possible.

A place where she could gather her thoughts and try to plot the route from the realities of today to a tomorrow where that might just be so.

She had made excuses with Lee, had felt the need for some space. Had told him she had things to do.

In reality, she had no such things to do, beyond buying a few items of fresh clothing.

She lived in a small apartment on the fringes of Puerto Libre, paid for at one time by Hristo, and now the actual owners didn’t dare ask for missing rent simply
because
it was Hristo they had dealt with once upon a time. It was an arrangement that worked for Imelda, and one in which she at least did not feel too beholden to a man she had learned to despise.

She had a little money of her own, too, enough to tide her over for now, until she worked out what would come next.

In short, she had nothing to rush back for, and so she explored the narrow streets of this old town and allowed her mind to wander and her plans to take shape.

Lee called her that night.

She would have gone back to him sooner, but earlier that evening she had spotted Georgi in his Lexus outside the New Duchess and she had known to stay away.

Instead, she lingered in the shade of an alleyway, watching the gangsters in the car – Georgi Niholov and Anton Dimitrov and a couple more she didn’t recognize.

Things were going to blow up, she knew.

Hristo would never allow anyone like the Bailey Boys to settle in and become established, particularly now that he had had time to assess Lee when he had worked at Hermanos.

It had been inevitable that he would make a gesture, make sure they knew their place.

When she spotted that Lexus, she wanted to turn, walk away. Keep walking. Seeing Georgi and Anton there was like a slap in the face to her, a harsh reminder of reality after a night with Lee and a day here in the old town, allowing herself to believe that she might escape.

But she could not leave now.

Lee was in there. His family.

She took her cellphone out, found his number, wanted desperately to call.

But what to say?

She didn’t know for sure what was going to happen.

What if they were just staking the place out? What if they’d been there the night before and seen Imelda enter and not leave until morning?

Even now, was Hristo waiting for her, ready with another cruel punishment?

She wasn’t
his
. He didn’t own her.

She went to press ‘Call’, then stopped herself at the last moment. Slipped the phone back into the inside pocket of her purse.

Turned away.

She couldn’t just stand here.

When she glanced back, Anton and the two she didn’t recognize had emerged from the car and were now crossing the street towards the New Duchess.